Atheris
by xenomorpheus
Summary: Great are the Dark Lord's demands, but greater still are his rewards. Not for the Parkinsons, who begin to lose favor with Voldemort after his return. Pansy is forced to reconsider old loyalties and prejudices. AU after GOF.
1. Prologue

A Pansy-centric fic because whatever Rowling says, I think she's an interesting character, and we didn't get enough of her in cannon. That said, I'm trying to respect the major parts of JKR's story. No Dransy (sorry), no suddenly good Pansy, and Harry/Ron/Hermione are still the heroes, but Pansy will have a lot to do and learn in this story. The story begins right after Goblet of Fire.

 _Disclaimer 1:_ I haven't written in years, so bear with me. The broad strokes are decided, but a lot of the story will develop organically.

 _Disclaimer 2:_ HP is obviously not mine.

* * *

"Dad, please?" His eyes were glued to the watch he'd taken apart. He hadn't heard. "Daaaad?"

"Your mother has already forbidden it. She must have good reason."

"But -"

"But nothing," her mother said, dropping a splotch of oil paint on the portrait she was finishing. "Pansy Agatha Parkinson, the last thing I want is for you to be _working,_ especially with that spinster, Rita Skeeter. Don't take it the wrong way dear, but a plain girl like you, with such an unambitious academic record; well, at least you could behave according to your breeding."

"It's a summer internship! I'm the only Hogwarts student who received an offer, " she was proud of the fact even if her parents weren't. Her mother swept a glob of paint off the canvas with her wand, and went back to painting.

"Ugh," Pansy stormed off to her bedroom. She flung herself on the cold, silk bedspread and threw a frilly cushion at her door. She hadn't seen Draco since end of term, and Millicent was in Poland. Crabbe and Goyle were around, but without a pack of Gryffindor firsties to terrorize, they were no fun. The _Prophet_ would at least make summer bearable, but no. If Helena Parkinson was going to be bored stupid at the manor all summer, then so would Pansy. Mother acted like Pansy wanted to _Scourgify_ toilets for the daily. It was just writing. She wrote essays for potions and transfiguration all the time. She might even be good at it.

"Pansy dear," she buried her head under a pillow. "I do hope you're not crying. I hate how your eyes get all pink and swollen when you do. Lucius Malfoy will be at dinner."

She jerked the door open, "I'm not crying."

"Well, good. After that racing broom incident I wouldn't be surprised."

"That was almost three years ago, mother".

Mrs. Parkinson started walking away, "Do wear something nice. Wonky will be along to help you."

Pansy bit her lip thinking of something to wear. She frowned. No Draco or Narcissa then. A month into the summer holiday, and the Malfoys had not visited Parkinson manor at all. She finally chose an emerald green dress that complemented her eyes, and waited for the house elf. Pansy scrutinized her upturned nose and baby cheeks with a pearl hand-mirror. Downright dreadful; mother had been kind to call her plain. With a simple glamour she could be on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ , but masking her looks sounded way too pathetic. Besides, she'd still be short for her age. Even that ponce Weasley liked to joke that she was half house elf. A jelly-legs jinx and a flight of stairs set him straight.

"Miss Parkinson, " Wonky apparated with a pop and bowed. "How may I help?"

"Just do my hair. An updo will be fine," she sat by the bedroom vanity. The elf and her ragged pillowcase looked so ghastly in her room. She shuddered as Wonky's shriveled, papery hands touched her hair. How disgraceful for even the noblest families to have servants that looked wrinkly as a mandrake root and dressed in sacks.

"No, not so fancy," she yanked some glittering hairpins out of her hair, and tossed them on the floor. "Something simpler. It's just dinner at home."

"So sorry," the house elf squeaked, and bowed to pick up the pins.

A few minutes later, Wonky had done well enough, and Pansy waved her off. "Dismissed."

She found her parents in the drawing room downstairs. Her dad hadn't moved. "Henry, will you please change into something more presentable," her mother pleaded.

"No need," he kept tinkering. "Lucius understands…its just dinner. We met…at the… ministry. I invited him."

"I'm sure that watch is far more important."

"Not just a watch," her father smiled. "It's a Pocket Docket." He looked at Pansy as she sat down. "They're used to track schedules. See," he twisted the winder a half turn.

A voice like a St. Mungo's siren assaulted them, "MEETING WITH: T.M. Ridddd-uull, AGENDA: Department of Mysstuurrreeeees, DATE: Octob—"

"That's not right. I don't even know anyone by that name. You get the idea." His wife was not impressed. "Oh, just let me be. I had a dreadful day at the firm."

Before anyone could ask, a chime echoed through the manor. Lucius had just apparated beyond the grounds. They walked to the entrance, and could already hear their carriage clomping along the cobblestone drive to deliver their guest.

"Lucius," her father bowed. "My friend, it's been too long."

"It has indeed." He kissed Mrs. Parkinson's hand. "Helena, lovely as always. I regret Narcissa and Draco's absence. I wanted just a quick word with Henry, but he tempted me with dinner." Lucius noticed Pansy beside her mother, "Pansy, dear. Good to see you again,"

"You as well, sir," Pansy curtsied.

"A long day at work Lucius?" He nodded as Helena led them into the estate. "A spot of tea in the parlour then?" She was already walking there.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I must be going soon. Perhaps we should take dinner straight away." How unexpected. It was most impolite to refuse entertaining before dinner.

"Of course," her mother's feet stuttered before walking to the dinning room. "We'll be having pheasant tonight, if that's alright."

"Certainly." A fourth chair appeared at the Parkinson table for their guest. Henry sat at the head of the table with Lucius and Helena on either side, and Pansy next to her mother. "Pansy you must be relieved to be home; away from the excitement surrounding that Diggory boy's tragic accident," Pansy gulped a mouthful of _Sauternes_. Her mother scowled.

"Yes. I didn't know him well, but it was quite a shock." She wanted to ask if the Dark Lord really had put Diggory out, but didn't want to offend Mr. Malfoy by implying he would know anything about it. As her father proved in court, Lucius was a noble man who was _Imperiused_ during the first wizarding war.

"Draco too has been quite affected," hah, Pansy could just imagine. "Fortunately, you have most of the summer ahead. " He took a sip of wine. "Plenty of time to get out and forget this business before term resumes."

"Yes, I've wanted to get out more. Perhaps even intern somewhere," she looked at her mother. "The _Daily Prophet_ offered me a summer post, though I've not made a decision yet."

"Splendid. The editor, Barnabas Cuffe, is a family friend. I'm sure you will establish many lifelong connections there. You must accept."

"Well, mother and father have the final say, of course." Pansy smiled at her mother. Lucius suspected he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"Yes, of course," Helena ground out. She squeezed Pansy's forearm under the table while Lucius started talking to her husband. Pansy smirked. Whatever scolding she was in for would have to wait until Lucius Malfoy left.

The rest of dinner, she and Helena were spectators while Henry and Lucius spoke about new trade restrictions the ministry was considering. Her mother nodded now and again. Pansy didn't pretend to care.

The table was cleared, and slices of dark chocolate cake appeared before them. "I hate being so forward," Lucius announced, "but I should come to the point of my visit."

Pansy's mother started dragging her away to let them speak privately. "Please, excuse us."

"Actually, Helena, this is a family matter," Lucius let them regain their seats.

"Come now, Lucius. Don't keep us in suspense," her father chuckled.

Malfoy remained stern. "I speak to you in strictest confidence." Everyone nodded. He tore his left sleeve back, revealing an angry scarlet tattoo. The dark mark. "The Dark Lord has returned."

Pansy stopped fiddling with her dessert, surprised to be trusted with such information. "We are still renewing our numbers, but grow stronger by the day. The Dark Lord rewards those who remained loyal to him, and will soon punish those who were unfaithful."

Her father spoke slowly, "Do you mean he has some grievance against us?" What was her father asking? The Parkinsons always spoke well of the Dark Lord, and honored the old ways. He couldn't possibly be displeased with them. "We've done nothing wrong."

"Correction: you have done nothing. While we fought for the prosperous future our kind deserve, the Parkinsons cowered at home." He sneered. "Ready to reap all the benefit with none of the sacrifice."

"I kept you all out of prison. Why, Yaxley would be rotting in a cell if not for me. Instead, he's working in Magic Law Enforcement," Henry was almost hysterical. "You, Lucius. Where would you be?"

"I'm here because I don't forget a favor, Parkinson, but don't hold it over my head," Lucius hissed. "You hurt the Death Eaters as much as you helped. The Dark Lord knows you encouraged Avery, Karkaroff, and even Bellatrix to give names. Bellatrix spat in your face, but the rest betrayed their brothers to the ministry. I've spoken on your behalf, but they are hollow words when you've refused service so many times."

"What of the Greengrass and Zabini families? They're openly neutral."

"The Dark Lord has a special interest in you."

Henry blanched. "Why?"

"Your parents gave their lives for him. He's disgusted to see their son become an armchair supporter. I assured him the Parkinsons just require proper motivation." Her father stared down at the table. _Say something,_ Pansy thought. He should be proud, not look like a cornered mouse. "Soon the Dark Lord will require your services. Do not refuse him."

Lucius stood. "Until then, I'd like you to do something for me." He pulled a silk cloth from his pocket, and unfurled it on the table. "I chanced upon a rare item in Greece. The collector claimed it was the Ring of Gyges. Not that I believed him, mind you, but it is a curious thing." A gold band lay in the black cloth. Helena tried to touch it, but Lucius slapped her hand away. "Don't be daft. Your mind could be shattered on contact. The signs of powerful dark magic are undeniable." He turned back to Mr. Parkinson. "I'm most interested to learn the ring's secrets, once all protections and curses are lifted."

"I'll give it my best."

"See that you do," he stepped away from the table. "Don't disappoint me, or I may find myself disclosing to the Dark Lord your friendship with that defector, Regulus Black. After he disappeared, rumor had it you were his secret keeper."

"Nonsense," her father stammered.

"Let us hope so," Lucius walked toward the foyer. "I'm sure you'd like to be alone with your family. I'll see myself out. Remember: great are the Dark Lord's demands on us, but greater still will be his rewards."

Pansy stared down the hall when the door slammed shut. Helena regained her senses just enough to close her gaping jaw. A Malfoy or not, he had a lot of nerve treating her father like some Borgin and Burke's shop keep.

"I don't understand dad. Why are you scared?"

"Everyone who serves the Dark Lord is scared – or insane," he chuckled darkly. "Even Lucius. He wasn't here for our sake. He's afraid of associating with anyone not committed to the Dark Lord. Avery and the others too; they're ready to sacrifice me before admitting they betrayed their friends."

"It won't come to that," Helena reassured. "You still mourn your parents. The Dark Lord will understand, and welcome you to his service."

He ignored her. "They died for nothing. Muggles, despite their cleverness, are still just animals. They'll blow themselves up in a generation. There's no need to pledge our lives to a maniacal half-blood for it to happen."

"Henry!" Her mother protested. "What are you saying?"

Pansy's heart skipped. She'd never heard them say something against the Dark Lord. Voldemort was peerless, greater than Dumbledore. No one else had the will and strength to fight for all pure wizards and their rightful place. 'You-Know-Who' was just a silly pseudonym blood traitors and mudbloods used. A true wizard or witch had nothing to fear. Pansy knew that, but her father's face made her bones cold.

"What will you do, dad?"

"Serve, if I must. The Parkinson name has lasted centuries because we adapt, and above all else, survive."

* * *

A/N: I know RAB died stealing You-Know-Who's locket, but to everyone else it must have looked like he disappeared without a trace.

I'll try updating once a week, probably a similar length. Liked it? Hated it? Let me know, and thanks for stopping by.


	2. Swallowing Basilisk Venom

_A/N: I worked with a lot more characters this chapter. Hope you like it. Whether you do, or don't, drop me a review._

 _Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter._

 _\- x_

* * *

"Very suave, Longbottom," Pansy laughed as he tripped and knocked over a Hufflepuff named Abbott. Neville's red face warmed her insides more than the ginger tea she drank. Outside, the October wind made every step feel like walking into Azkaban. Abandoning her eggs and kippers, Pansy picked up her satchel. Another Friday, another opportunity to be blown up, mauled or stampeded by whatever monstrosity awaited her in Care of Magical Creatures.

On the way out, she tried asking Draco about Hogsmeade this weekend, but Vincent and Greg had him surrounded. They howled at a Holyhead Harpies joke. Quidditch and Potter; the two topics Crabbe and Goyle could at least grunt about. An intelligent boy like Draco should really spend more time with the better Slytherins in their year. Like her. She let Blaise and Daphne catch up instead.

"So," Blaise looked down at her. "Any bets on what torture that Troll has prepared for today? Daph thinks manticores, but we're due for something poisonous, don't you think?"

"Let's see," she flicked through some pages in her textbook. "How about a Naga? A divine serpent native to India. Shows favor to those who revere it. If disrespected, will swallow you whole."

"Who knew Newt Scamander wrote a chapter on being friends with Pansy Parkinson," Blaise ruffled her hair. She batted his hand away with her book

"Hah, hah," Pansy pantomimed. "Fantastic beasts, what a laugh. That filthy half-breed teaching us, now there's a fantastic beast." Daphne snickered. "Imagine if we could get him and Lovegood together. Have us looking for Nargles or something. We could at least make it out of class in one piece."

"Shut up, Parkinson." Ugh, Ronald Weasley and his one talent: sounding like a petulant two year old.

"Weasley, I am having a polite conversation with my friends. Just because that oaf gives you a free pass for drinking tea in that shack every week, doesn't mean you have to defend his honor."

"Stuff it," Potter chorused. " Blimey. Just because Skeeter printed all that rubbish you said about me and Hermione doesn't mean anyone else cares what pug-faced Pansy has to bark about." Blaise stalked toward him. Potter drew his wand.

"Leave, it Blaise." Pansy caught the sleeve of his robes. She turned to Weasley and Potter. "If you enjoyed last year's exposé, just wait. I worked at the _Prophet_ over holiday, and Barnabas Cuffe said I could have my own column this summer!" Weasley made a face like a deflated balloon. "Excellence of connections is the key to excellence, as my parents always say."

"Your parents can swallow Basilisk venom, " Weasley shot back. Granger tugged at his sleeve, but he shook her off. "And maybe you can join them."

"Ron." The bushy-haired girl got his attention. Dumbledore stood waiting for them a few steps ahead.

"Ah, Miss Parkinson." No doubt he heard Weasley.

"Sir, I..." the Gryffindor's ears steamed.

"Can I help you Mr. Weasley?" Ron shook his head. "Off to class then." Granger and Potter dragged him off. "You as well Mr. Zabini, Miss Greengrass." Blaise and Daphne shrugged, then walked away.

"I hate to deprive you of _Professor_ Hagrid's class," Pansy detected a paper-thin edge around the word Professor. She thought air quotes would have been more appropriate. "However, I need to see you in my office, Miss Parkinson."

She followed him. Count on Dumbledore to let off that Griffindork after insulting her family. She'd probably get it for insulting 'professor' Hagrid, though. Not that her remarks should even merit a detention. She'd said the truth. The man was a half-giant after all.

"Chocolate buttons."

"Sorry?" Pansy felt the floor rumble. The base of a griffin statue twisted against the sandstone floor and left a spiral staircase in its place. She climbed the steps. What a mess. She saw a pensieve, piles of alchemy equipment, books everywhere, and an honest to goodness phoenix. A small black journal, wounded right through its center, lay on his desk. Junk he hadn't bothered throwing away.

"I understand you're quite fond of lemongrass tea Miss Parkinson." Pansy sat in front of his desk; surprised he knew anything about her. "I make it a point to know something, or a few somethings, about everyone at Hogwarts," he smiled. "Would you care for a cup?"

"Yes, please. Headmaster, what is this about?"

"Just a moment," Dumbledore wagged his finger while serving her cup. "Minerva and Severus will arrive soon."

Her grades were fine. No one saw her jinx the Creevy brothers on her way to breakfast earlier. Maybe he wanted to know about the Inquisitorial Squad then. Thanks to her and Draco, his precious Gryffindors couldn't run about as they please anymore. It had to bother him.

"Minerva, as High Inquisitor - and a member of the ministry no less - I can inform Miss Parkinson of the situation better than anyone else." Umbridge. Being a junior inquisitor had its perks, Pansy admitted, but Salazar help her if she ever saw another tea dish with a kitten on it.

"Dolores. As the Headmaster, Dumbledore believes the Deputy Headmistress and Parkinson's head of house will suffice." She appealed to Dumbledore, who smiled. That same aloof smile of his, Pansy noticed, could show kindness, amusement, fondness, or in this case, annoyance.

"Dolores, you have a classroom waiting."

"Albus, please," she pleaded. "The poor girl's parents are DEAD! I'm something of a role-model to her..."

The blood drained from her face. A needle stabbed her heart. "What?" she demanded.

Snape's billowing robes separated her and the squat witch like a curtain. "Enough." He guided her out. "If Miss Parkinson wishes herself subject to any further insensitivity, we will send for you right away Dolores."

Umbridge peeked around Severus. "Leave, Dolores." Dumbledore's low voice carried across the room like a slammed door. Umbridge and her offensively pink robes swished down the spiral stairs.

"Is it true?" Her breath hitched, and the words squeaked out to her annoyance.

"Yes." Snape returned to the desk.

No, No. No. It couldn't be true. The room spun, and she curled into herself to stop it. Her fingers dragged through her hair. Her chest heaved. Her eyes stung. _An accident? Impossible. Mother hardly ever left the manor._ Pansy shut her eyes. She saw Lucius Malfoy sneering at her father again. _The Dark Lord_. No, Pansy pleaded with herself. _The Dark Lord needs them. He wouldn't just kill mum and dad_. A hand squeezed her shoulder, like the cold, dead grip of an inferius. Snape whispered condolences. Words as comforting as a dementor's hissing.

The professors around her didn't exist. She'd apparated into an abyss. An oblivion that echoed the words: _Lord Voldemort killed them_. Salted tears touched her lips, and spilled down her arms. She wailed into her hands. Pansy wanted to drown in that void. Wanted to dissolve into the air. _Voldemort_. The echo forced her eyes open. She had to know. "They were k-killed." She wept. "W-was it You-Know-Who?"

Dumbledore stared at her evenly. "Well, was it?" She demanded this time through a sob.

"A dark mark alerted the Ministry to Parkinson manor," Severus confirmed.

"How?" She turned to Snape. Her stomach clenched at the thought of torture.

"Avada Kedavra." She could shake him. Her parents were dead, and he couldn't say more than two monotone words. "Both of them."

"The Ministry informed us only hours ago." McGonagall kneeled, and wrapped her arms around Pansy. The closeness reminded her of mum and dad, and fresh tears erupted from her eyes. The professor's emerald robes muffled her cries.

" _We'll see you end of term"_. Mum's last words at King's Cross. " _Yes, I'll see you then."_ Not a hug or even a smile passed between them. She jumped on the train, not wanting to hear about her marks yet again. " _Two Exceeds in transfiguration and history of magic; well that's salvageable. Just an Acceptable in potions, how disappointing. Professor Snape is a dear friend of the family."_ She choked out a laugh, remembering how Mum almost fainted at the Troll she got in muggle studies.

Every term, they dismissed her marks because she wasn't a maniac like that muggle-born, Granger. She would endure their ridicule thousands of times over to see them again. She would give much, much more for their better moments. Like walking into Olivander's for the first time. Her first wand: 10-inch blackthorn and unicorn hair. The warmth of her magic flooding her and the bright smiles on mum and dad.

"Take all the time you need, dear." Minerva's hand circled Pansy's back. Pansy reached for the black handkerchief Snape held out.

"They would want to be buried outside the manor," she whispered, not ready to meet their eyes.

"Your father's law practice will handle the preparations," Dumbledore said. She could see grief in his eyes, in his smile, and in the creases of his face. Far away grief. Like a dot on the horizon. Like a ghost of a memory. They'd never shared a single word before. Not even when Dumbledore selected her as a Slytherin prefect. Now, without a word, she knew he understood her sorrow. "A service will take place in two days. You will be given leave on that day, and the remainder of class today."

"And however long you need," Professor McGonagall added.

"Thank you." Pansy's voice still shook as she got up.

"I am deeply sorry, but there is something else," The headmaster sighed.

"Am I in danger?" The thought occurred to her for the first time.

"We do not believe so," Dumbledore reassured her. "Hogwarts continues to be the safest place anywhere for a student like you."

"What then?"

"You suspect the Dark Lord." Severus accused. "When few believe he has returned."

Dumbledore continued. "If you have anything to share about your parents – "

"Stop," McGonagall shielded her. "This can wait until the poor girl has had some time."

"It doesn't have to. I do know something. Last summer, the Dark Lord…" she stared back at the floor for a second. Everyone around her stiffened; waiting for her to betray her parents. "…the Dark Lord came to my fifteenth birthday party. He gifted me a mummified chupacabra, drank all the champagne, and tried to eat the entire birthday cake himself."

No one said a word. Her Slytherin instincts should have realized it sooner. Snape and Dumbledore just wanted any secrets she knew, and they counted on McGonagall to lull her into confidence.

"My parents were not death eaters," she wanted to carve it on Dumbledore's desk. He probably didn't believe her. He probably thought her parents deserved what they got. "I don't know how this happened."

"Excuse our impertinence," Professor Snape bowed. "We do not mean to accuse."

"My humblest apologies," Dumbledore echoed. "The Ministry's silence has already cost us so much. Every piece of information, no matter how small, can save a life."

She thought of Lucius' visit, but would sooner be expelled than say something about it. It wouldn't help anyone; just create rumors about her parents. "I have nothing else to say."

Tense minutes followed before Snape moved on. "As for your guardianship, you are now a ward of this school."

"Will I live at Hogwarts all year?"

"If you choose," Dumbledore responded. "A Hogwarts professor will become your official guardian. You can stay with him or her."

She looked at Professor Snape, but he hid behind his greasy hair. McGonagall shifted next to her. "Professor Snape would be more than willing, I'm sure, but I thought to volunteer myself."

She couldn't exactly turn down a gesture of kindness, but knew Snape would at least stay out of her way. She didn't know what to expect from the head of Gryffindor. Pansy nodded.

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent. I'll let Dolores know we've already made arrangements then." She supposed things could have been worse then.

* * *

McGonagall proved meddlesome straight away, and insisted Pansy go to the infirmary instead of resting in the dungeons. At least madam Pomfrey had the sense to leave Pansy to her thoughts.

The calming draught had done its work. She felt like Millicent had knocked the air out of her, but cried no more. Pansy studied the sandwich in front of her. They couldn't have betrayed the Dark Lord. She didn't lie to Dumbledore; her parents weren't death eaters. They had nothing to betray, and Dad wouldn't have refused him again.

The Parkinsons had gold and connections at the Ministry. They were valuable to the Dark Lord. She remembered the tremble of her dad's voice. Somehow, he'd known this wouldn't be enough. Voldemort would demand more. _"Everyone who follows the Dark Lord is scared – or insane."_ His words rang clear now. Only a psychopath would murder her parents without cause. Only a psychopath would take everything from her on a whim.

Her calming draught crashed against the floor. She cursed the potion for muting the hate she wanted to feel. Cursed her selfishness and weakness. She'd sat at Hogwarts chasing after Draco and squabbling with Weasley, while her parents drew their last breath.


	3. Slytherin Solidarity

_A/N: A lot of emotions went into this chapter, but I'm not sure they come across as I intended. If you've made it this far, hopefully I've made you care more about Pansy (if you didn't already). Thanks for reading._

 _Disclaimer: HP belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just borrowing these characters._

 _\- x_

* * *

Pansy walked into the Great Hall as the evening post flew in. She had suffered through a private lunch with McGonagall who seemed afraid to set down her teacup too hard lest Pansy collapse like a house of cards. Griping about missing her friends saved her from an encore performance for dinner. She'd rather be there; in the Great Hall. Everyone would know when the evening _Prophet_ came in. Besides, Slytherin would have her back if any obnoxious Gryffs, Puffs or Claws acted out.

A letter cannonballed into Draco's pumpkin juice as she sat down between him and Blaise. Further down, Cassius Warrington freed a bottle of Dr. Quicksweep's Broom Polish from its packaging. She scanned the hall. Cho Chang, the Weasleys, Lovegood all mocked her with the rustling of parchment. Letters from home. Letters she would never receive again. Pansy took a deep breath. "Hi, Draco. Blaise."

Draco nodded while sliding a letter opener under the wax seal of his soaked envelope. "Hey –", Blaise saw her red eyes splotched with tarred mascara. "You look ghastly Pans. Where have you been?"

Daphne and Tracey stopped talking to each other. "Zabini, you don't just tell a girl that she looks ghastly." Daphne flicked her hair back. "Poor Blaise, more handsome than Gilderoy Lockhart, less charming than a flobberworm."

Tracey laughed. "Daphne will make a gentleman out of him yet. Right, Pansy?"

She nodded, their banter muted by the lead wall in her chest. Pansy picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "What's wrong?"

A salty drop rolled downhill along her face. She opened her mouth, but the words got lost from her brain to tongue. Four simple words she couldn't say: my parents are dead.

"Her parents are dead."

Count on Draco to be blunt around her. She covered her face to hide more tears. The bench creaked, and Draco's robes brushed her arm as he retreated further down the table. "Draco…"

"That git. What's his problem?" Tracey asked.

Pansy's hands trembled. He didn't even care. She walked him to Madam Pomfrey's when that hippogriff nearly tore his arm off. Checked on him after. Went to Yule Ball as his second choice when Daphne turned him down. After all that, his indifference should hurt more than the dull ached she felt, but it was a bee sting to the freight train that had run her through in Dumbledore's office. "It's true. They were murdered."

Tracey gasped, and Daphne stretched across the table and hugged Pansy. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Merlin." Tracey squeezed her. "Forget about Malfoy." Pansy wanted to float away, but the girls' arms anchored her. All around, dinner plates and silverware stopped clattering. She could hear wax dripping off the candles above her. With her head buried in Tracey's robes, she sensed every pair of eyes on them like a spotlight.

"Let-let go," Pansy begged over a stream of sobs.

"She doesn't want everyone staring," Blaise said. His left hand rested on Pansy's back, feeling every sniffle and shudder. For once Pansy was glad to be on the short side. Daphne and Blaise barricaded her from the rest of the hall. As well as two people can anyway. The other Slytherins had followed Draco a good four feet toward the other end of their table.

If Blaise and Daphne were her shelter from passing gapers, Tracey was a mother dragon. She glowered at some approaching Hufflepuffs, scarier than a horntail guarding a hatchling. The badgers scurried away. She cast a knee-reversal hex and sent a gobsmacked Ravenclaw backwards to her table. The rest of the hall could take a hint. Though, Tracey couldn't stop the whispers of ' _death eaters'_ and ' _blood-purist scum'_ that whipped Pansy's ears.

"How awful." Daphne whispered. Tracey snatched a copy of the _Prophet_ from a passing first year, and smoothed it between them. On the front page, Parkinson Manor was a decayed tooth. Ivy strangled what walls still stood. A dark mark crowned its brow. Pansy read:

 _This morning aurors responded to reports of a UFO (muggle-speak for unidentified flying object) outside Windsor. Well, trust a muggle to confuse a glowing green skull with one of their flying trashcans. The team found a Dark Mark menacing the Parkinson estate! A first-respondent wishing to remain anonymous, recounts, "…we thought the Parkinsons must've done it. You know, had too much fire whiskey, an' blew the place up. I've seen ex-death eaters do worse." On entry, man and wife were dead in each other's arms like a macabre Romeo and Juliet. A passionate double suicide gone horribly right? Scrimgeour confirms the couples' wands were used to cast Unforgivables._

 _Lucius Malfoy, once a close family friend, cast another light on the deaths. "I recall Henry becoming quite excited with Sirius Black's escape two years ago. He began keeping company I prefer not to name, out of concern for my family's safety." Could notorious mass murderer Sirius Black have been hiding out at the Parkinson estate all these years? With more questions than answers, we can only guess whether the dark mark signaled a fatal feud with You-Know-Who's right-hand man, or the final goodbye of two embittered blood purists. This afternoon, Minister Fudge commented: "All Parkinson assets have been seized pending a thorough investigation to possible connections with Sirius Black and other criminal elements."_

 _Readers will recall the confusion regarding whether Mr. Parkinson was one of You-Know-Who's loyal bootlickers, or just sold his soul to defend the same in court. That question has been more than answered today. Though fourteen years late, this writer his humbled at the reminder that, one way or another, justice comes to us all._

 _Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

The article ended with a redacted close-up of her parents. They were stiff as gargoyles, knocked over and gaping in agony as their souls departed. "The Cruciatus." Blaise recognized.

Her mind fought a tug-of-war. Horror at the heap of tortured flesh that used to be her parents, clashed with rage at Skeeter's sensational slandering. Their stony faces wrestled with Lucius Malfoy's false testimony. The Cruciatus drove Longbottom's parents insane, and they were trained aurors. Her mum and dad had no chance. She looked at Daph, Tracey, and Blaise. At least they had to know. "Lies. Every word," Pansy said. "You-Know-Who killed my parents." The paper crumpled under her grip.

They didn't' say anything. Maybe they thought she was losing it. She wanted them to know. Everyone would know. Pansy would shout it from the top of the astronomy tower if she had to. "Voldemort killed them." She repeated.

Tracey flinched. Daphne recoiled like Pansy had stabbed her with a hot poker. Their voices quavered, "but he's gone."

"Lucius Malfoy says he's back. He told my dad—" A biscuit hit her head.

"Watch it, Parkinson," She struggled to connect the words with the sneering blonde who said them. Draco never talked to her that way before. "Spreading rumors can be dangerous business."

She flicked loose crumbs off her forehead and glared back. Satisfied, Draco continued talking to Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise cut him from her line of sight. "Think. What good has it done Potter and his cronies to cry about the Dark Lord to the heavens?"

"I won't let them smear dirt all over my parents' names." Pansy retorted. "You believe me, don't you?" Their lips parted and closed, eyes darted to the floor and then each other. The hesitation of a spinning top swirled from Daph to Tracey to Blaise and back; a hair away from falling over, then maddeningly wobbling on. Pansy got up, ready to storm out, when Dumbledore toppled the tension with a throaty cough.

The headmaster summoned a lectern. "By now, you are all aware of today's events. This morning Miss Parkinson's father and mother tragically lost their lives." Dumbledore smothered some lingering murmurs with a moment of silence. Pansy bent low over the table after some students stood and craned their necks in her direction. "I say lost when I should say taken. Taken in a way more terrible than any of us can image, and more terrible than any person deserves."

"As always, the ministry has its version of events. In this difficult time, I ask that you keep your minds open to other possibilities. More importantly, keep your hearts open. Nothing can replace the love of those closest to us, but friendship and kindness remind us that there is still good in the world; however dark it seems. Your house is your family, but remember that all of Hogwarts is an even larger family."

One big family. Right. Maybe she could share sob stories with Longbottom over butterbeer. Or start a You-Know-Who-Whacked-My-Family support group with Potter. She forgave Dumbledore's naiveté. No one else would say truer or kinder words for her parents. "We're here for you Pans. Anything you need." Tracey and Daphne said.

"So do you believe me then?" her left hand still strangling a copy of the _Prophet_.

"Well, it would explain why Malfoy acted like such a snot." Tracey swirled a spoon into her pudding.

"Mum and dad always said the Malfoys were very cozy with You-Know-Who." Daphne added.

"They don't tell you these things so you can go around broadcasting them." Blaise hissed.

"Blaise?" Pansy stared at him.

"Look. If that Beauxbatons girl could fail two Triwizard tasks without dying, Diggory can't have just dropped dead. Whatever happened, the Ministry covered it up. My mum's friends have been acting strange and whispering odd warnings too. Something's going on, but we need to keep our mouths shut." Pansy couldn't help smiling. Damn the rest of Hogwarts. As long as her friends supported her, anyone else could sod off. Blaise flicked his chin toward Draco's old seat. "Even Malfoy had the sense to burn his parents' letter."

His letter, of course. She sifted through the burnt scraps; autumn leaves made of parchment. Nothing. Blaise was right. Malfoy knew something. Whatever the reason he threw her under the carriage now, it was the same reason her parents died. That night, Lucius threatened her father. He might have betrayed them in the end.

Daphne tried to distract Pansy. "Draco is probably keeping quiet too. We'll sort it all out in the common room." She'd make sure of it. Whatever Malfoy knew, he'd already shared with the others, and it was enough for all of Slytherin to shun her.

"You should eat," Blaise suggested.

"I'm not hungry," Pansy said. "I better leave before everyone starts for their common rooms."

"Just a second. I'm still itching to hex whatever tosspots decide to get wise on the way out." Tracey grabbed a couple biscuits and waved the others off their seats. Blaise led the way with Pansy behind him. Daph and Tracey flanked her. They glided confidently across the hall, rising whispers following them out. Pansy just made it to the hallway when she heard a forced cough behind her. Weasley and Granger.

"Parkinson, umm," Ronald stumbled after the mudblood elbowed him. He was too fascinated by the stone floor to look up. He evidently forgot what he was doing there and Granger prodded him again. Potter stood behind them, guarding the Great Hall entrance. His hand hovered steady over his wand.

"What is it?"

Weasley scanned the exits still mindful of the witch anchoring him in front of the Slytherins. "This morning…your mum and dad…

…I didn't know…wished…

...drink poison...

…and…

….didn't know…"

Despite her meddling, Granger hid behind Weasley like she'd stumbled on a dire wolf caught in a bear trap. Or a wounded rabbit. Pansy couldn't decide what was worse: the muggleborn's pity or Weasley's intent to babble into next morning. "Five minutes and your thick head can't put together one sentence. Congratulations Weasley, you've astounded me with your idiocy. I'll be off now."

The pompous scar-head tramped toward her. "He's trying to apologize. It's more than your Slytherin mates did for you in there."

"We're right here you ponce, so just back off." Tracey stepped in front of Pansy.

"Harry, please." Granger had an arm on each of her friends. Potter and Tracey were trying to kill each other with mean glares. "We're sorry Pansy. Ron felt miserable when he found out and –"

"So miserable that bucktooth Granger had to drag him out here in a catatonic state." What rubbish. "Let me help you Weasley. Here's an apology:" Pansy clutched her heart theatrically. "Sorry your parents carked it. My wishing didn't make it so. I'm a ruddy wanker who can't even zip up his trousers properly, let alone be responsible for a-anyone d-dying." Tears budded and leaked out. "But it's still all _my_ fault. S-Sorry…but I simply cannot let a single instant pass…without all Hogwarts knowing…" she wiped her eyes "…how gallant we Gryffindors are."

Blaise pulled her away. "We should go." Through the salt-water mist in her eyes, she got one last, blurry glance at the golden trio. Blaise and Daphne guided her downstairs.

"Sorry," Ronald called out. She didn't stop.

"Stupid Gryffindors have to make everything about them." Tracey scoffed as they arrived at a blank wall. " _pura sanguinem."_ Some gaps in the center of the wall expanded to form a passage.

"Trying to suck up to Dumbledore," Blaise agreed. Pansy slumped at the L-bend of a green leather sectional. If she heard from Potter and friends again it would be too soon. She just had to break down in front of them. It wouldn't surprise her if they showed up with lilies and sympathy cards to Defense class on Monday. _Sorry_. Weasley echoed in her head. Pansy kicked a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ off the mahogany coffee table. Bloody Dumbledore and his soppy speech.

"Pans, we should go to bed," Daphne suggested. "You've had a long day."

"Not yet. I want to know why Slytherin house suddenly decided that I don't exist. Even that freckled git at least stuttered at me."

"You rest. We'll talk to them."

"Do what you want. I'm staying here." No one left. Pansy kicked herself for dousing the conversation. She would have been a mess in the great hall without them. She needed them if there was any hope Draco would tell her something.

They stared out at the gossamer and emerald lake. Grindylows raced through fronds of seaweed catching stray minnows. "Sorry. It's just – they know something." Tracey and Blaise inched toward her.

"We're sorry too Pans." Tracey wrapped an arm around her. "I just don't think Draco will talk."

"He's turned the others against me. If I get in a row with Draco, one of the others might slip up and say something." They looked at her like she'd just failed to tie her shoes. No argument; it was a boneheaded plan, which is why she hoped one of them would suggest something better. Blaise and Tracey were pretty clever when the situation called for it. To her disappointment, no one said a thing. She went to a window and stared at the inky depths outside. The glass chilled her forehead. A good insult would help her build the right momentum with Draco.

Twenty minutes later, the Slytherins flooded in. Pansy charged to the head of wave. The group parted around her. Most headed straight for bed. "Oh, hey Parkinson. Wanna sign my copy of the Prophet?" Warrington stonewalled her into a corner. He tickled her nose with a ruffled quill. "Best get an autograph before Sirius Black whacks you too, I reckon." Pansy kicked him in the shin.

Great, she lost her temper on some tosser in the habit of catching bludgers with his head. Not a good start. She spotted familiar blonde hair swimming through a sea of Slytherin cloaks. Pansy put an arm out to stop him. "What's wrong Draco, Mad-Eye got your tongue?" Fine, it sounded better in her head, but she had his attention.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "More like avoiding a clingy woofer who thinks she's my girlfriend because I went to Yule Ball with her last year." The Slytherins behind him chuckled. "Stop following me about like a lovesick puppy. It's really quite pathetic."

Just the day before those words would have gutted her. Even now he managed to unhinge her. "Trust me, I loathe you right now. My parents were murdered, and none of you," she swept over the others who watched, "none of you will even look at me. Why?"

"Don't be dense, Parkinson. You think my father is pleased that the family attorney is a suspected death eater? How does that make him look? Whatever that failure you call a father did, 'Sirius Black' had every right to exterminate him."

" _My_ father kept the pair of gutless worms that spawned _you_ from going to Azkaban." If anything, the Malfoys feared that what her parents knew about them would get out. Not that her dad ever shared clients' secrets with her, but Draco didn't know that. "I know plenty about 'Sirius Black' and the Malfoys, so stop feeding us this tosh. Admit it; the Dark Lord killed them, and your father was too much of a coward to do anything."

"You're delusional. Everyone knows the Dark Lord is gone."

She had to rile up the other Slytherins if this was going to work. "Don't worry everyone. Your darling Slytherin Prince is just feeling shy. He forgets how much you all like to fawn at his magnificence." Theo Nott looked amused, but no one was jumping in. They were happy to remain spectators. She'd have to bluff a little. "While he works up the nerve, I've got loads to share though. Anyone like to know how his father faked being Imperiused?"

"Shut up." Draco shoved her. She was an insect to him. He mirrored the way Lucius sneered at her dad that night. Like father like son. And like his father, he wouldn't trust just anyone with his secrets. She was wrong. No one else in the common room knew anything. He'd decreed her an undesirable, and the rest followed along. Simple as that.

Draco smiled. She saw the laughter bubbling behind his face. He knew she had no real information on the Malfoys. Poor Pansy and her pathetic attempt to make him talk. Without thinking, she pushed his hands off and dipped forward. Her head plowed into his face, crunching the cartilage in his nose. She pounced and knocked him over while he staggered. The floor pounded his temple, and her knee thrust into his diaphragm knocking the air out of him.

Goyle tackled her as she swung at Draco. An invisible jab with the force of a flying brick burst her lips. She tasted iron, and felt warm blood catch on her chin. Pansy kicked Goyle in the stomach, making him no more than grunt, but managed to at least stand up. Crabbe was coming with Malfoy. She fished her wand out of her robes. " _Petrificus Totalus_." Crabbe dropped like a tree right on Goyle.

" _Expelliar_..." Draco was three steps away. "… _mus_." Her wand launched toward a dark corner, but not before she charged into him again, and knocked him against a portrait of Morgana Le Fay. His wand clacked against the floor. He pushed her, and elbowed her chest, but she bent him over with a wallop to his stomach, and threw him down. His wand lay at her feet and she picked it up. She straddled his waist, and pressed the wand into his Adam's apple. "Now, you're going to tell everyone the truth Malfoy." Her lips, now inches from his face, still bled. Her teeth flashed crimson. She was a vampire ready to make Draco bleed out every last secret he had.

"Aauugh," someone twisted her arm behind her back. Goyle. He turned her wrist till Draco's wand dropped to the floor. He yanked her off Draco, and into the air like a rag doll.

"You, bitchhh." Draco stood, and grabbed his wand.

"Hold it." Tracey and Daphne thrust their wands at Draco's back. Blaise pulled Goyle off of her. Blaise, Daphne and Tracey measured their actions on an invisible weight scale. They had the advantage, but weren't feeling predatory like Pansy. Draco would go for blood as soon as they released him. The other Slytherins would lynch them if this went any further.

"Brawling like muggles," Theo Nott scoffed. Despite his superiority, he'd sat through the whole thrashing, perched on a study table. He slid to his feet and smoothed a crease on his robes. His deliberate steps settled the room.

"-arkinson's da wun who's a raabid beast." Draco nursed a cut over his left eyebrow. With his nose mashed in, his words were a slurry Victor Krum would've envied.

"Tell them Draco." Pansy leapt at him once more. Blaise trapped her mid-stride.

"Stop Pans. This isn't helping anyone." One hand fumbled with Pansy, while another had his wand on Goyle.

With a lazy finger, Theo guided Draco's wand away from Pansy. "First Granger, now Parkinson. I don't think you'll want word of this leaving the commons." Nott swiveled toward Pansy. "You're mad Parkinson. Unless you need Snape to sort you out, I suggest you go to bed." Daphne came over to her. Nott waited until Blaise and Tracey lowered their wands. "Splendid."

"Yu'll reegr't this," Draco undid the jinx on Crabbe before walking off to the boy's dormitory. Crabbe dragged a petrified leg behind him.

Pansy waved to Blaise as Tracey and Daphne escorted her to their chambers. Nott was now threatening the younger Slytherins to keep their mouths shut the next day. She headed right for the bathroom and washed the blood out of her face. It was already caking up. When she came out, Daphne had a first aid kit sprawled on her bed.

"Let me see."

"It's fine, Daph."

"People are going to ask questions when your mouth resembles the wrong end of a blast-ended skrewt."

"And just which end is the wrong end of a blast-ended skrewt?" Tracey laughed.

"Oh, shut up." She spread some gooey green paste on Pansy's swollen lip. "There. It should be back to normal by morning." She reached into her robes. "I grabbed your wand before anyone nicked it."

"Thanks, Daph."

" 'Thanks, Daph'. Are you mental? What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't." Pansy scrunched her eyes. "It's just – they're gone. The way it happened - I at least need to know why."

"I know. I'm so sorry." Daphne and Tracey held her. They sobbed and shuddered in each other's arms. For a long while, she stood there letting Daphne pat her hair while her forehead rested on Tracey's shoulder. Without speaking they finally parted, and she rolled into her four-poster bed, drawing curtains around her.

The cold duvet reminded her that this would be her first night utterly alone. Her were parents gone. The manor was leveled. More than family heirlooms and furniture lay buried there. The long corridors she clambered along as a child. Dad's study, where she first played wizard's chess. The legacy and future mum and dad wanted for her. What would she do now? How could she face the world by herself? And she was alone. In one day she went from second or third most popular fifth year in Slytherin to being a ghost. After attacking Draco, she'd be public enemy number one.

"We love you, Pans. Just don't do anything that stupid again." She allowed one last tear to caress her face. The only happy droplet she cried all day.

* * *

 _A/N 1: Draco was a complete snot in this chapter, but this fic is not meant to vilify him (or anyone in particular). He'll have his moment yet (much further down the road). I really wanted to get McGonagall in this chapter, but it already had plenty going on. So you'll have to wait until next time._

 _A/N 2: I hope Blaise, Trace and Daph came out alright. There isn't much cannon on them, so it's harder to tell._

 _Drop me a review some time._


	4. The More You Suffer

_A/N: It's been a while. Sorry about that. I've had to deal with some personal stuff including settling into a new job. It'll probably be a few months before I get back to weekly updates. For now I'll update when I can. Anyway, to make up for it, here's an extra long chapter. Most of my future updates will probably be in the range of 2k – 3k words._

 _As always, thanks for reading._

 _Disclaimer: HP is not mine._

 _\- x_

* * *

Half-buried archways and Doric columns stuck out of what seemed more a wrecked coliseum than someone's home. The curves of toppled statues, glassy white, stood out like giant pearls. A gazebo lay on its side making her think of a giant toppled cage. The modest cottage she grew up in could fit inside that cage.

Miss Parkinson and her friends sat against a gushing fountain several yards away. The students set off alone as soon as they arrived, forgetting so much as a thank you for apparating them there. Not moving from where she arrived, Minerva strained hear ears, but the whipping wind carried neither clue nor whisper of how the girl felt. Half a quidditch pitch away, Parkinson, Davis and Greengrass looked identical to the Black, Rowle, and Bulstrode girls from her year. Vapid girls who memorized their entire family trees, but couldn't tell you their favorite subject after seven years at Hogwarts. How would any one of them react to losing everything? Parkinson was just like them after all. She made petty comments about Miss Granger and Mr. Potter in the _Daily Prophet_ , habitually insulted students, and, Minerva suspected, was responsible for at least some of the hexed students that ended up in the infirmary every week. A spoiled brat, mediocre student, and a bully.

Guilt pricked her heart as she saw the hunched girl and her friends walk toward her again. The bullies of her youth were decades in the past, and Minerva wasn't a girl anymore. But Pansy was, and today she mourned her parents' passing. Whatever Parkinson might think, Minerva didn't become her guardian to make her life hell.

"The funeral will be held at the cemetery grounds beyond the forest." Pansy pointed to a tree line that marked the end of the grounds. "A carriage will deliver us along the causeway there." Pansy spoke to the wind instead of talking to her professor directly. It must be uncomfortable for Pansy to suddenly find herself accountable to a Hogwarts professor who never paid her any mind before. McGonagall climbed into the carriage next to Daphne Greengrass.

Miss Davis and Miss Greengrass snuck one last look at the decimated estate, probably imagining what the buildings looked like intact. It must've been their first time at the Parkinson estate then. Minerva had suspected as much. Mr. Zabini was a brilliant transfiguration student; top of the class if not for Miss Granger. Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis possessed less talent, but worked hard for what they earned. The trio never partnered with Pansy, yet only they came with her today. A valuable lesson for Miss Parkinson to realize who her real friends were.

After riding for a kilometer through the elm and oak forest, they strode into a clearing. Thick reds, yellows and browns carpeted the grass. Amid the autumn patchwork, tombstones and memorial statues stood at regular intervals. It was an infinite chessboard of granite and marble headstone pieces. Starting from the row closest to her, the grave markers wove back in time to the first of her ancestors. Pansy could visit every Parkinson that ever lived. What half-blood or muggleborn could say that?

A raised black marble platform occupied the spaces left for Pansy's parents. Leaves crunched beneath her feet as they walked to the seating area. The sky was a murky crystal ball. Morning dew covered the fallen leaves making them smell like decay and earth.

The seating area was only five rows long. Pureblood families liked turning funerals into exclusive affairs. It was one last chance to snub anyone the deceased didn't care for. In this case, the deceased were the ones being shunned. Seven guests were attending including the undertaker. They all fit in the first row. Pansy sat near the aisle. A short, balding wizard walked over to her as soon as she did. His stomach stuck out like he swallowed a cauldron. "Miss Parkinson," he picked up her hand and kissed it. "I'm Mr. Howell, chief probate attorney at Parkinson and Rowle."

Pansy nodded. "Pleasure. I presume you are to thank for today's arrangements?" Howell nodded. "You have the Parkinsons upmost gratitude."

"A privilege. Your father was a brilliant man and a great friend. You know, I was only Junior Aide to the Assistant of the Undersecretary for the Minister before I met your father. He believed in me enough to lend me a chance, and I've never had to look back." His eyes were watery, and Pansy avoided them so she wouldn't be tempted to tears as well. "I am truly sorry for your loss. In the coming months I will fight the Wizengamot to reinstate your property rights to all Parkinson assets. Look for my owl soon."

As he left to sit down, a cello's G note rippled through the air, making the cold breeze become still. Everyone looked down the aisle. Two attendants ushered her parents' hovering coffins to their final resting place. Pansy couldn't recognize the composition, nor did she care. Her eyes followed the rigid cherry-wood boxes, each dressed in a red and white sash stamped with the family crest; a soaring firebird. The sashes fluttered more in tune with the music than the wind; like sails propelling her parents to the beyond.

The last time she saw them…well she could never have imagined it would be the last time. A breakfast lecture about O.W.L.s. Dad hiding behind the newspaper as she yelled goodbye from the door. Mum saying a dignified and proper _ciao_ that Pansy didn't hear as she ran to meet her friends. Had she only known then. If she'd known that Voldemort would hurt them so badly that their faces would stiffen in permanent agony, making an open casket funeral indecent. Had she known that the next time, she'd be staring at two cold, unfeeling boxes; she would have looked for mom's almost imperceptible smile as she said goodbye, or dad's amused mumbling as he read the _Prophet_ over his morning earl grey.

She wasn't brave enough to see their mortified expressions, but maybe it was for the best. Her last memories of them would be of them being perfectly… _perfect_ , as mum would have wanted. Only, not seeing their faces again made it all surreal. Like an elaborate hoax. Like they weren't really gone. They'd just been with her. Logic tore a hole in the feeling. No one could outwit the ministry's forensic aurors. Not a scrap of evidence got past them. Her parents were gone. Malfoy knew why, and she blew any chance she had of finding out.

The coffins parked on the marble platform. Pansy waited for a final, drawn out note to end before she picked up a bouquet of flowers from her bench. They were blue dahlias; the stark sky blue of a clear summer day. In the center she added two white pansies. Her namesake flower symbolized thoughts and memories. One for mum and one for dad, who would both live on in her memories. She set the arrangement between both coffins, and faced the audience.

"Today we lay to rest Hector Allan Parkinson and Helena Christine Parkinson; my father and mother. They were loyal friends to those they trusted, great philanthropists to the causes the believed in, and devoted parents. Taken before their time, they nevertheless led exemplary lives." Pansy stopped for a breath. She spent Saturday coaxing her brain to cough up some words worthy of her parents, but the daylong effort felt as fruitless as trying to squeeze juice out of a rock. This was the best she could do. "Above all else, this example is the greatest legacy I inherit from them. As their sole heir I will do my best to preserve their memory. However, it is not just me that they have touched with their lives, but all of those present as well. I now invite each guest to approach their altar individually and pay their final respects."

Starting with Blaise, each of the seated walked up behind Pansy and faced the altar. They were brief. Pansy swore some of them only counted the time before moving along. McGonagall went next, slowly placing a wrinkled hand at the altar, and bowing her head. She whispered something Pansy wished she could hear. The undertaker behind McGonagall stamped his feet until Pansy glared at him. No one else personally knew Hector and Helena, but McGonagall at least knew not to act as if she was in a queue for a burger or something.

Once everyone returned to their seats, Pansy bowed to the caskets to offer her own last respects. Instead, the same thoughts that hadn't left her alone the last few nights simmered in her mind. How? Why? Dad promised everything would be all right. A salty tear rolled down her face and fell on the bouquet. Pansy sobbed and bent her head to hide from the guests.

It was no good. She couldn't stop the tears or the questions from flowing. What would they say if she could see them one more time? Did the Dark Lord kill them himself? Did he send someone to do it? Did he send Malfoy? No way mum or dad did anything against the Dark Lord. And so what if they had? It didn't mean they deserved to die. Her brain pricked with anger. That anyone could do that to her mum and dad. That their supposed friends would do nothing to stop it. Lucius Malfoy might even be responsible for it. One way or another she would find out from Draco.

She breathed deep and brought her mind back to the present. She stared at her parents' altar _. I'm sorry I was never good enough. Sorry that I did NOTHING while you both dealt with such a burden. No matter what happens, I will find out who did this. I will make them pay. I will make you proud._

She wiped her eyes and took her seat again. She'd practically promised to lift a mountain for them. Even as she made the vow, words of doubt crowded her mind like a swarm of worker ants. She didn't know how she would do it. Her mind was tremulous. Her heart was fire. She allowed herself to feel hope, if for no other reason than because she'd never felt like this about anything before.

As hope burned through her, the coffins before them smoldered and rumbled too. Blue flames flared out from underneath, and engulfed them whole. The fire licked hungrily and rose over Pansy's head. The searing blue pillar turned orange then receded, dancing low. Howling winds swept in from the four corners, and wound together with the fire. "Akkkkkaaaaaaa," the flames ripped apart forming two wings; a firebird was born. Its plumes shone deep red; roaring flame captured in a crystal shard. The firebird cried again and beat its wings. A searing wind kissed their faces. It swirled upwards in long circles until it became a second sun in the sky. A single feather retraced the firebird's winding path in reverse before landing in Pansy's lap. Two headstones occupied the altar's place now; her flowers lay in the narrow gap between. She shook hands with the other two mourners as they retired. Professor McGonagall and her friends were the only ones left now.

"A beautiful service Miss Parkinson."

"Thank you." Pansy smiled weakly. She was done crying. Today was a day for dignifying and remembering her parents. The hole she felt in her heart that first day remained with her. It would always be there. But she also had to remember: from this day on, she lived for them too.

"Thank you all for coming." Pansy looked at her friends and even McGonagall.

* * *

Pansy crammed her copy of Defensive Magical Theory into her rucksack, crushing some rolls of parchment underneath, then squeezed in her potions book. Hopefully she hadn't snapped any quills or cracked any inkpots, but she felt too tired to check. She looked in the bathroom mirror. Her face drooped like a dilapidated candle. Would Draco try anything? What about the other Slytherins? Would Potter and friends heckle her some more? Would the _Prophet_ have anything more to say? The questions wouldn't leave her alone all night.

"You know, McGonagall would let you off if you ask." Tracey tied back her hair.

"You do look tired." Daphne agreed.

"No. I won't spend another night worrying about my first day back." She couldn't show the other students any weakness either. She could handle the Longbottoms, Patils, and Macmillans of the school. Slytherin house, though, posed a bigger problem. Everyone in her house would be out to get her. She pinned a silver and green badge to her robes. Her being a prefect would only egg them on.

The three girls walked out of their dorm, and Pansy slipped on a pile of leaflets near their door. "Careful everyone, rabid bitch on the loose!" She picked up a leaflet. Pansy featured on the cover: on all fours, frothing at the mouth, and chasing a Slytherin student. It read: _When Parkinson Attacks, Ten Tips to Traverse the Commons Safely_. It snowed 3 inches of these pamphlets in the common room overnight. Between portraits, Pansy saw posters that read 'Lost Mutt: Answers to Parkinson' and 'For Your Safety, Travel In Pairs' with her picture on them. Near a bookcase she saw a flute in a glass case with the label: "Taming Flute: Play In Case of Attack."

Draco sat near the fireplace. He pretended to finish some lines for defense class, but Pansy saw his ears stand when she came in. As she walked through the common room a redheaded firstie barked at her and scrambled to breakfast. Pansy flicked her wand toward a study table. The pamphlets flocked to the table into neat piles. "There," she announced. "We don't want a fire hazard in addition to this nasty business, do we?" She left behind a disappointed Draco. It must have taken him all night to dress up the common room.

"Guess he's not going to listen to Nott and let bygones be bygones, huh?" Daphne said.

"No, but he has to try much harder than that to get under my skin," Pansy answered.

"If he's going to do this," Tracey smiled. "We should let the school know how you pounded the snot out of him. That'll really make him look pathetic."

"No" Blaise said. "House fights are supposed to stay in Slytherin. If Pansy leaks it to the school, Slytherin will only hate her more. If Draco takes things too far, though, he could loose their support."

They entered the great hall to a squawking of crows. Left and right students chattered, looked her way, and then turned back to their friends. Whispers mixed with occasional chirping and gleeful cawing, like a flock of ravens eyeing a tasty piece of bread. Pansy wouldn't mind so much, but their clucking carried undeniable joy.

The group sat exiled in the same corner of the Slytherin table that became theirs since last week. "Miss Parkinson," McGonagall caught her with half a bagel in her mouth. The other Slytherins snickered.

"Professor?" Pansy swallowed.

"If I could speak with you for a moment." The transfiguration professor led her a few feet away from her table. "I commend you for being so serious about your education." Pansy smirked; McGonagall knew well that she barely had an Acceptable in transfiguration. "However, if you were to take a personal day, I'm sure your professors would understand."

"I'm fine, professor." Pansy stared directly at her to make the point. McGonagall looked at the corner where her friends sat quarantined, then back to her. "Well, if you need anything, Miss Parkinson, my door is open to you."

Pansy nodded, and walked back to her seat. She scooped at the porridge in front of her, and shoveled a spoonful into her mouth. A gasp and a cackle reached her from down the table. Crabbe elbowed the guilty third year quiet: Daphne's sister, Astoria. Draco stared right at Pansy behind a glass of juice. His eyes gleamed.

 _Pfftch_ , she spit out a mouthful. Bits hit the table. They did something to her food. She yanked the nearest napkin, and fervently wiped her tongue clean.

"Miss Parkinson, is something the matter?" McGonagall came back. Pansy shook her head. She didn't need a reputation as a snitch. She had no proof anyway. "Please observe proper table etiquette. If you have any food allergies, leave a note for the house elves."

"Of course." Some Gryffindors across the hall chuckled at her. She tried to hide the blush that crept onto her face. "Sorry professor." This time Pansy tracked McGonagall all the way until she reached the professors' table. Her friends also looked slightly embarrassed. "Thanks. They snuck something in my porridge while you lot were lollygagging."

"Don't get paranoid on us Pans," Daphne said. " 'stori came to say hi to us, but that's it."

"You're being a right pain in the arse, but we wouldn't let anyone poison your food." Blaise smiled.

Pansy stared down at the milky slop. It looked fine. Just to be sure, she pulled a small compact from her robes. Lips, mouth, tongue…nothing looked swollen or oddly colored. They were right. She sheepishly put the mirror back in her pockets. Draco was just playing mind games with her, and of course she let him lead her on like a stupid cow. She heard another snicker from down the table, and slammed her fist. "What –"

BOOM.

Her bowl erupted like Mt. Vesuvius right under her. Pansy's face and robes were painted in milky oats. Heads snapped to the source of the cereal detonation. The great hall roared as Pansy stood up.

Daphne held a hand over her mouth. "Oh, Pansy I'm so sorry…I…"

"Let's get her out of here." Tracey ran over to her. Pansy locked eyes with Draco who held his side like it was going to burst.

" _Ahem_." Umbridge sounded like a squeaky windup toy. She wore a little pink cap that seemed to crush her head and neck down into her squat shoulders. Her sweet old lady smile told Pansy that she was screwed. "And just what has happened here?"

"My porridge exploded." Laughter filled the hall again until Umbridge's smile shut them all up.

"I can see that Miss Parkinson. Your bag please." Umbridge held out her hand, and pansy reached under the table for her rucksack. Pansy heard paper tear and inkpots butt heads as Umbridge rummaged through her things. How humiliating. Couldn't they at least do this outside the hall, so she didn't look like some delinquent dripping in oat clumps?

Umbridge dumped the bag's contents on the Slytherin table. "There you have it." She excavated a small blue box from the pile. A Bombtastic Bomb. "Infernal little things," Umbridge chirped. "I'm sure you are aware that under Educational Decree number 30, all Weasley products are strictly prohibited."

"That's not mine!"

"I'd say you've earned yourself detention."

"Wait, someone put it in –"

"My office this Friday at eight sharp."

"But –"

" _Purifico._ " Umbridge erased the slop coating Parkinson with a sweep of her wand. She turned to leave before adding. "I thought you were one of the good ones, Miss Parkinson. Pity."

Laughter bounced off the walls and the enormous vaulted ceiling. As the hall heaved up and down with noise, Pansy felt like a laughing giant had swallowed her. She threw her things back into her bag as quickly as possible and stormed past the Gryffindor table.

"What'd I fell you, Georgie, the Explosive Enterprises line needs a label. Warning: must be smarter than a dazed lawn gnome to use," one of the Weasley twins said. Someone else chimed in. "Poor thing. She must've tried to rearrange her face with that bomb." The buzz turned into torrential laughter.

She stood halfway up a shifting staircase when Pansy remembered she had defense class first. She turned back to the third floor and entered the girl's bathroom.

"They got what they deserved, you ask me. Death E—." Two younger girls shared a bathroom mirror. Her presence stole the last few words from their mouths.

"Go on." Pansy threatened. The girls mistook this for permission to leave her sight. They fled with misapplied lipstick and soaked hands. She got one last look at them; Pansy never forgot a face.

The slammed door reminded her why she fled the great hall. She let herself be completely blindsided. No. It was her _supposed_ friends who didn't notice when someone put a bloody _explosive_ in her food. They were supposed to look out for her. And Umbridge had to interrogate Pansy in front of everyone, and then ignore her when she tried explaining. Like the Weasley's would ever sell her any of their crackpot products. She was a junior inquisitor and a prefect for crying out loud.

Something like a slug crept in her ear. She fished out a blob of oatmeal, and threw it on the floor in disgust. That Bombtastic Bomb could have killed her, and Umbridge only cared about handing out detentions.

* * *

She made it to defense just before class started. "Where were you?" Blaise asked as Pansy sat between them.

"Nowhere." She was still upset.

"Never mind that." Daphne interrupted. "I'm sorry Pans. It must've been Astoria. She slept through Binn's class and wanted to know about the goblin rebellion of 1233 and…"

"It's alright." The words pricked her tongue.

"I'll talk to her. Don't…"

"I said it's all right." She could strangle them all right now, but she really didn't have anyone else. If these three ditched her, she'd have better luck surviving a full moon with that half-breed _Professor_ Lupin than making it through term.

"Good morning." Umbridge smiled at the head of the class with her hands folded in front of her. "This week we shall cover a rather difficult subject: the Unforgivable curses." Her squeaky girlish voice undercut the severity of what she said. "As always I am committed to maintaining a safe learning environment. Refer to chapter 33, The Unforgivable Use of Unforgivables."

A few students hoping to delay their boredom, fished through their bags slowly. The professor flicked her wand across the room, and the remaining texts jumped out of their owner's bags and onto the desks, already at the appropriate page. "As a reward for all your hard work last week, we will read this chapter as a class. Miss Granger if you would begin with the first paragraph."

Granger's snooty know-it-all voice sounded like she'd been asked to drink hemlock. "In the beginning we have two parties with differing viewpoints. When the opposing party abandons negotiation in favor of combat, it can become easy to view that party as an enemy. Remember: there are no enemies. There are only those who have not been convinced of the truth that you stand for."

"Excellent. Here Mr. Slinkhard relates today's topic with his teachings in _The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack_." The class grumbled in acknowledgement. "Next paragraph, Miss Parkinson."

"Certainly." Pansy spoke clearly to let everyone know what happened earlier hadn't fazed her. She read: "Unforgivable curses are precisely that, that is unforgivable, because they rob the opponent of lucidity, agency or sentience with which to continue debating. In argument, if any party resorts to the use of Unforgivables - in addition to the severe criminal penalties - said person has already admitted defeat."

"Good. Mr. Malfoy, is there a question?" Pansy turned around to see Draco's hand up.

"I'm confused. Is Mr. Slinkhard saying we should use one of the Seven Peaceable Phrases to Pacify an Attacker from the last chapter?"

"That is a suitable response, yes. Excellent question, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin." She scribbled a note into her planner.

Merlin preserve her. Her brain was turning to molasses in this class. Malfoy's hand rose again. "Would this apply in the case of the Parkinson murders?" The entire class jolted awake.

Umbridge scowled. "Mr. Malfoy, what an insensitive thing to ask."

"I'm terribly sorry, Pans." Draco bowed his head in her direction. "It's just…the tragedy…has affected us all. Having the theoretical principles explained through a proper example…might help." Crabbe, Goyle and some other Slytherins agreed. Pansy had forgotten what a good little actor Malfoy could be. He must be dusting off his skills since the hippogriff incident in third year.

"A discussion may prove instructive." Umbridge said. "Mind you, such a severe attack is almost unheard of. Furthermore, the ministry is actively investigating the case so anything we say here is just conjecture." Seeing that she had the entire class' attention for once, Professor Umbridge continued. "If we suppose that the incident was indeed a murder, then it becomes quite evident that the victims failed to apply the first principle of non-violent responses to aggression: keep an open line of communication."

Draco beamed. "I see. By cowering in fear, they _communicated that_ they: _felt threatened and powerless, thereby emboldening their assailant's propensity to violence_." She had to give him some credit; Draco recited the passage word for word.

"Precisely." Umbridge said. "The proper response calls for standing one's ground while firmly pressing for verbal discourse. Five more points to Slytherin." Verbal discourse, like that could ever work. Pansy bit her tongue to avoid saying anything.

"Just think Pansy," Draco said. "Had your parents simply known these fundamental techniques, they would still be with us today." Bastard. Pansy took a deep breath. Words. That's all Draco could manage in a classroom. An exploding cereal bowl was one thing, but she wouldn't let his taunts get to her.

Granger raised her hand. "Excuse me professor, but I really feel this discussion is inconsiderate. May we please move on?"

"The entire class is perfectly engaged in the material, Miss Granger."

Her hand came up again. "In that case, might you please explain how the first principle of non-violent responses applies when an adversary knows they have the upper hand and is utterly unreasonable? What could a common witch or wizard do against the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, Grindelwald, or Lord Ekrizdis, the founder of Azkaban?"

"Or Voldemort who is clearly responsible in this case." Potter burst in.

"Stay out of this." Pansy ordered them. Potter and Granger just couldn't mind their business. Draco had just about run out of steam, but they had to go and stir the cauldron again.

"Mr. Potter, must I remind you that this classroom is not the place for voicing your inappropriate and unfounded theories?" Umbridge croaked angrily.

"Well you did say 'anything we say here is just conjecture', so I'm just telling you mine." Weasley chuckled.

"Detention. See me after class, Mr. Potter." Umbridge went to the head of the class. "Miss Parkinson doesn't need anyone twisting a terrible tragedy for political or personal gain. Isn't that right?"

Pansy's blood boiled in her veins. Her parents didn't die because they failed to follow some stupid self-defense routine. They were exterminated by someone who saw them as less than vermin. She wanted to shout that it had been Voldemort, and that Umbridge was a filthy, lying toad for saying otherwise.

What would it earn her, though? A detention and encouragement for Draco to keep tormenting her. She didn't need to give him another victory. Pansy nodded then hung her head low. Even in death she was disappointing mum and dad; letting Malfoy attack them yet again. The disgusted look Potter gave her only made it worse.

"Here's another tip for the Slinkhard book: don't be a genocidal nutter, or friends with one. It can get you killed." Seamus Finnigan added.

"Students will raise their hands in my classroom." Umbridge huffed.

Lavender Brown raised hers. "Seamus has a point, though. The Parkinsons weren't exactly a family of little lambs. According to Rita Skeeter they had ties to _Sirius Black_." Brown emphasized the last point, happy to turn the rumor mill even in class.

"And what would a stupid bint like you know? I'm astonished you got off your back long enough to read the paper." Pansy said. She'd be dead and buried herself before she'd let the likes of Brown and Finnigan badmouth her family.

"Not as much as you, I reckon. Anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"I think we can add the Hogwarts motto to Slinkhard's tips. Never tickle a sleeping dragon." Pansy stood up and stared down Lavender. "Especially one inclined to send you head first down a toilet to be Moaning Myrtle's new best friend."

"Miss Parkinson, sit back down." Umbridge squeaked, but Pansy remained standing. " _Hemm-hemm_ , I suppose this subject is too difficult for us to discuss after all." Granger wore her I-told-you-so face.

"You'd better watch yourself too Finnigan," Pansy added.

"I do not tolerate threats in my classroom." Umbridge's girly voice turned severe. "I understand this tragic accident…"

"THERE WAS NO TRAGIC ACCIDENT YOU COW. First Diggory, now my parents. The Dark Lord killed them, or had someone else do it." Everyone stared at her like they would at a raving vagrant begging for change. "And my parents were good people. I'll threaten and hex ANYONE who has a go at them. I swear I…" She snarled as her mouth went mute.

"Silence." Umbridge put her want away. " _Tsk-Tsk_. In spite of Minerva's assurances, I'm afraid you aren't at all dealing well with this tragedy. Nevertheless, I cannot indulge disrespectful and shocking misbehavior. You have earned yourself a second detention."

Umbridge left the lip-binding hex on Pansy for the rest of class. Pansy fumed. Malfoy knew better than to press his luck again, so the rest of class went by uneventfully. Umbridge had them return to writing lines for 'maximum retention.'

* * *

The day just wouldn't end. Draco didn't try anything during lunch, but she ate extra slowly just in case. Twice paper balls meteored into her stew from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Draco and the others were content to sit back and watch the other houses' petty torments. More than once, a small explosion made her jump in her seat. Apparently, the Weasley twins were turning a large profit on their explosives. It almost made her think they'd been behind it all along, if she didn't know Draco. Umbridge was driven hoarse confiscating products and handing out detentions while the other professors watched.

She kept a mental list of the students Umbridge caught, and after lunch called on her entire repertoire of spells for some payback. In a singularly brilliant moment, she cast a bat-bogey hex on Macmillan and Finnigan, and then used _Oppugno_. They ran down the hall chased by their own bogies, but still looked like they'd been shat on by a pack of ogres when she finished.

The day was almost through now. Right. Just a _four-hour_ double potions session to go.

" _Morgana Miserablis_. Otherwise known as luckless liquid." Snape scribbled ingredients on the chalkboard. "I must stress, although I confess myself extremely tempted to withhold the information: unless treated immediately, a single drop will result in seven years of bad luck. Any more and a painful, expedient and unpredictable death is certain."

Great. Like Pansy needed any more stress in potions. She was already partnered with Crabbe for the year as a favor to Draco. That first day, Crabbe messed up an honest to goodness calming draught. He chucked a half-kilogram of pureed worms instead of a pinch of raven entrails into their cauldron. From then on, Pansy insisted on doing all the work while he pretended to read the text.

Today would not go so smoothly. Draco probably asked him to sabotage their work. Grades weren't a big sacrifice for Crabbe anyway. Not that she was the next Damocles Belby, master potioneer, but today she'd have to deal with intentional stupidity not just his usual ignorance.

"Alright. Vincent here's the ingredient list." He took the parchment and headed for the cupboard toward the back. Pansy reviewed the potion. It seemed tedious, but not overly complex. Mandrake root sap acted as the base, but they'd need to add ground manticore claw every 777 seconds, and swirl eight times anti-clockwise. The timing might be difficult to keep.

Crabbe came back with an armful of ingredients he dumped at their workstation. "Careful, you're making a mess." She arranged the ingredients in the order they would be used, and started preparing them. Pansy gouged the mandrake with a knife and perched it on a wide-mouth flask to collect the root sap. She took a brass scale from a cabinet and began measuring out the manticore claw in proper servings when she noticed Crabbe had picked up the mandrake root and started wrestling it with his bare hands.

"What are you doing, you twit?" She hissed.

"Making the sap come out faster." Orange sticky resin coated the workstation where Crabbe manhandled the plant.

"You're wasting it all." She yanked the root from him and put it back on the collection flask. "I hope we'll still have enough. Why don't you just pretend to read or something?"

"Is there a problem here?" She hadn't noticed professor Snape gliding around the room.

"No professor."

"She won't let me do anything." Crabbe whined.

"Apologies Mr. Crabbe. I assumed that you prefer to spend class twiddling your thumbs as you've done all year." Pansy smiled until the professor turned to her. "Miss Parkinson, partner work is to be divided equally."

"Yes, sir." As Snape continued his patrol, Pansy thought about the simpler tasks Crabbe could do. "Alright. We need a bronze cauldron today. Get one from the back, and fill it with 5 litres of purified water. Set it over the fireplace when you get back."

She read over the potion again. There wasn't much he wouldn't screw up. She'd just have to think of something menial. He came back swinging a lead-colored cauldron and sloshing a trail of water behind him. "Vincent, that's a pewter cauldron. I said, bronze. The same color as a knut," she clarified. "And mop up that water."

Minutes later she had the cauldron in a pre-boil stage, and poured the root sap. Things might not go so bad after all. They were behind everyone else because Crabbe couldn't even fetch water properly, but if he could stay busy cleaning up and leave the delicate stuff to her, then things would work fine.

Forty minutes later, she frowned at the bubbling potion. The potion looked dull orange when it should be a fiery red orange according to _Magical Drafts and Potions_. She thumbed through the instructions. _Morgana Miserablis_ required the sap from one medium mandrake root. For an 'exact science' their potions text was infuriatingly vague sometimes. Still, if the color was wrong, it probably had to do with the resin that Crabbe spread over the table. "Looks like we need more root."

Vincent followed her to the cupboards for a fresh mandrake root. She hunched, trying to hide from Snape behind some students at the back. Professor Snape didn't want to hear anything about wasted potions ingredients. He kept an exact count of his inventory, but as long as he didn't see, he wouldn't know who took what.

Again she prepared the mandrake root. They couldn't start again, but maybe she could use half of the sap to make up for what Crabbe squandered. The cauldron next to her burped, and Pansy's heart sank like the handful of gurdyroot Vincent dumped into the potion. "Are you mad?" She screeched. Snape's head snapped in her direction, and she put a hand over her mouth.

"You said we needed more roots, so I threw some in." Crabbe smirked.

"More _mandrake_ root - don't touch anything." Pansy charged toward the ingredients store. She let her guard down at the critical moment, but she could still save the potion. Gurdyroot had a canceling agent. What was it? Snape mentioned it a few weeks ago. Dragonfly powder? Beetle dung? Bottles and jars clinked and toppled as her hands nervously picked through the cabinets. Boar tusk? Naga venom? Griffin feathers? Grindylow hairs? Gr-green lacewings? That was it.

Pansy cradled the whole jar and bound for her cauldron like a rugby player toward a goal line. Crabbe only threw in a handful, so half the jar should do it. She poured without measuring, and swirled the copper ladle eight times clockwise. The lacewing jar stumped against her table, and Pansy released the breath she held. She might just have saved her Exceeds from turning into an Acceptable.

After she calmed down, Pansy had Crabbe untangle the unicorn hairs they needed. It was completely unnecessary, but kept him busy. She concentrated on a small hourglass that indicated the right time to add fresh manticore claw to the potion and stir it. On the other side of the room Snape roared at Finnigan and Longbottom. Somehow they'd burned a hole through their 2-inch thick cauldron, and its contents had barfed out all over the Gryffindor side of the room. Pansy chuckled. It was beyond her how anyone expected a partnership to work between the boy blunder and Finnigan, who managed to blow up a feather for Merlin's sake.

Half an hour later, she stirred the unicorn hairs into the potion. Everyone else was almost done. As usual, Granger's workstation practically gleamed, and her cauldron simmered ready for evaluation. A full half hour before everyone else. It was inhuman. Ten minutes longer and she could add the flobberworm guts, and finish. Snape would come by. Like usual, he wouldn't say a thing, even though she deserved a medal for completing such a difficult potion while fighting Crabbe's aggressive stupidity.

If mudbloods had one advantage, it was that they could keep their parents in the dark about Hogwarts. Muggle parents probably didn't fuss about their grades as much as pureblood families did. If she was a muggleborn like Granger, she would've happily let Vincent commit academic suicide, and ruin her grade too. She didn't have any practical use for potions anyway. Her parents had galleons to spare - even the ministry had its hands on it now.

She sighed. No use thinking about that now. "Alright Vincent. We're finished. You can start cleaning up." She added the flobberworms and stirred. The oil of unicorn hair contained the essence of bad luck, and the mandrake root acted as some kind of binding agent, but Pansy had no idea why flobberworms were necessary. Probably just to make the potion taste gross, and look a slimy grey color.

Just as she stirred for a seventh time, the cauldron started bubbling, boiling really. Pansy scanned the room. The others' potions reflected a smooth, graphite color. Trying not to panic, she snatched a thick mitten, and removed the cauldron from the fire. The bubbles simmered violently now. Worse, they huddled and merged together. Just a minute later, the cauldron gave birth to a single huge bulb that kept swelling. The size of a beach ball now.

Crabbe smiled wickedly. It kept growing. Pansy could only stare at her grey and distorted reflection in the swelling bubble. She'd been so careful. What could Crabbe have done? She could burst the potion with the ladle, but it would explode all over her. Should she get Snape? He was in the far corner of the room scowling at Potter's work. He would fail them automatically upon seeing this catastrophe. There had to be a way to salvage this. It was a miniature hot air balloon now.

"Professor! Parkinson's potion is out of control!" Snape looked ready to crucify the yelling student before he saw Pansy terror-struck in front of the potion.

"Parkinson!" Snape's barking shook Pansy enough so she ducked under her table just before the cauldron erupted. Snape cast a shield charm over those near him.

Tables, chairs and even the ceiling dripped with grey sludge. A few students were hit too. Snape dropped his shield charm and charged over. He scooped a spoonful of the potion from their cauldron. His poised hand brought the silver spoon up to his eyes. He tipped the spoon in the air to check the potion's viscosity. The other students panicked. Snape warned them about direct contact, but didn't mention a specific antidote. Pages fluttered and tore as students chased for an answer. The ones who escaped the blast fussed over the stuff dripping from the ceiling. They scrambled under chairs and tables.

"At ease." Snape commanded. "Parkinson has mercifully brewed a completely inert _Miserablis_. Not that she needs any more bad luck. Fifty points from Slytherin for the reckless endangerment of your entire class." Pansy hung her head in shame. That was absolutely merciful from her head of house.

He explored the potion remaining in her cauldron. The wrinkles in his forehead deepened. He muttered something about Flamel's Third Law that Pansy didn't understand. A second after, Snape ladled out a square pie from the bottom of her cauldron. "Parkinson. Crabbe." He hissed. "Identify this _ingredient._ "

Pansy couldn't believe her eyes. She must be dreaming. The basilisk glare Snape had told her otherwise though. Crabbe gaped like a gobsmacked baboon. Pansy scrunched her eyes and shoulders like she was about to fly right into a hurricane, but couldn't stop. She answered. "It's a…pumpkin pasty, sir."

"Correct." The entire class was too terrified to laugh. Not that Pansy noticed. "You two must think yourselves terribly clever to try getting away with eating in class, in the presence of deadly substances."

"No sir." They answered.

"Cleaning supplies are in the store room. Do not leave until the room is spotless. You both have a month's detention."

When they returned with brushes, buckets and cleaning solution, Granger was talking to Snape. "Sir, most of our potions were contaminated. We can hardly present our best work under the circumstance." Snape placed a mark on his clipboard and kept walking. The bushy haired girl made a face at her that Pansy reflected back at the Gryffindor witch. Pansy had a month's detention, probably a T for the day's potion, and had to scrub the entire classroom like a house elf. So what if the other students' grades suffered a little too.

Her hands were raw and wrinkled by the time they left the classroom three hours later. They'd missed dinner. Pansy saw Crabbe fish out a fresh pumpkin pasty from his bag on the way to the Slytherin commons.


	5. Pathetic

_A/N: I found a little break during thanksgiving weekend to write this, so here we are. I think I can manage bi-weekly updates, but I'm not making any promises. Anyway, if you've made it this far I hope you're enjoying my little fic. Thanks for being patient, and for reading. Drop me a review if you get a chance._

 _\- x_

* * *

The feather shone and shimmered in her hand, absorbing the light of the sinking sun outside. Pansy twirled it between her fingers. It felt like a sliver of strength in her hands, re-energizing her after the worst week of her life. She'd cleaned cauldrons every night with Crabbe, leaving not time for assignments. Books for her unwritten two-foot long essays in transfiguration and charms, a three-inch thick packet of calculations for arithmancy, and an empty dream diary all layered on her night table.

Like the professors, Draco hadn't let up all week either. Nicking her homework assignments, sneaking honking quills and other Zonko's junk into her bag, and baiting her in class; he just wouldn't stop. She couldn't even study in the commons any more with all the barking and jeering Draco's pamphlets caused. Luckily Umbridge's twenty-fourth educational decree distracted the Gryffs, Claws and Puffs. They were too busy whining about their disbanded gobstones clubs and quidditch teams.

The firebird feather tickled her nose. It felt warm, and smelled like cinnamon and cloves. Eyeing her watch, Pansy pressed the feather between the pages of an old journal, and placed it at the bottom of her trunk. Only detention with Umbridge left and she could put this hellish week behind her.

As she walked the Slytherin common room, Graham Montague circled around her playing Draco's taming flute like a dancing satyr. He escorted her out, encouraged by clapping from her housemates. She arrived outside Umbridge's office five minutes before eight. Potter leaned against the wall across from the professor's door. Arms crossed, brows furrowed, and chest puffed out; Potter looked ready to brawl with a centaur, fend off a legion of dementors or do some other life-threatening deed Dumbledore would jump at the chance to praise him for. It was just a detention for crying out loud. Pansy sat on the floor several feet away, but he spotted her, and walked over.

"Parkinson. You did the right thing, standing up to Umbridge, you know."

"Oh I agree, Potter. Telling everyone about Lord Voldemort has worked out great for me. Not a single person has stared at me like I'm a nutter or accused me of being mental since then." Pansy scoffed and looked down the hall. Hopefully Umbridge would just show up so they could get this over with.

Harry looked offended. "Just Voldemort. You don't still respect him enough to call him 'Lord Voldemort', do you?"

"What do you think?"

They heard footsteps down the hall. "Fair warning. Umbridge likes to hand out cruel punishments. Just don't let her know she's gotten to you." Please. Umbridge was a member of the ministry. She didn't even want them using magic in defense class lest they get hurt. She couldn't be that bad.

"Evening Parkinson. Evening Potter." Umbridge came within earshot. They both straightened up in front of the professor as she led them into the room. Umbridge had two desks facing walls opposite each other. She had a slight springiness to her step that made Pansy think Umbridge had been waiting all day for this. "Please take a seat. You will both be doing lines for me." Writing lines? Potter said she was cruel not cruelly boring. "There will be no need to talk. Keep your eyes on your parchment or the wall facing your desk."

"What do you want us to write, professor?" Pansy asked.

"'I must not tell lies.' Repeat until it sinks in." Umbridge chirped.

Right then. Pansy picked the nearest desk and walked to it. "I haven't got any ink." She called when she sat down.

"We won't be needing any." Potter answered.

"Rightly so. Please continue. Eyes forward." Umbridge said.

Pansy picked up a slender black quill next to the parchment Umbridge provided. She wrote the first line: 'I must not tell lies.' The red ink had barely set on the paper when a sharp pain jolted through her left hand.

"Owww!" The line 'I must not tell lies' etched into her hand as if by a tiny red-hot needle. Her skin peeled around the edges of the letters like the rind of an orange. She threw the quill down on the desk.

"Something the matter dear?" Umbridge stood beside her desk. Pansy swiveled around to face her. She saw Potter over Umbridge's shoulder mouthing something: stay strong.

"No…No, I'm fine." Pansy breathed.

"Eyes forward, then." Umbridge commanded. "How pleasing to see naughty children take so well to their punishment. With this attitude, I'm confident you will both leave tonight as better persons than you arrived."

Pansy's pen hovered over the parchment. They were writing in their own blood. Bloody Potter, if he was going say something, he could have mentioned blood-leeching quills. _Ouch._ The pain itched, burned and stung at the same time as she wrote a second line.

That same invisible needle retraced the words on her hand. Her stomach fluttered as cold air flowed over the cuts before they stitched themselves together again, leaving a rosy burn in their place.

This had to be illegal. If Potter knew, he should have told Dumbledore. Umbridge would've been sacked by morning. _Ouch_ , she winced silently. She hadn't even written anything down that time, but her hand was still scratched through. Maybe the pen was supposed to mark her hand periodically whether she wrote or not. Her eyes edged to the side, and she saw Umbridge shaking her head. Pansy bit her lower lip to avoid crying. She'd already yelped once; Umbridge wouldn't get any more out of her.

 _Ow, OWWW_. Maybe it served her right for cracking down on Gryffindors with Weasley products the last few weeks. She even planted some nosebleed nougat on Longbottom just for laughs. Pansy shook her head to banish the thought. This was just what Umbridge wanted her to think. A harmless prank was one thing. Umbridge was _torturing_ her.

Each time it happened her hand took longer to heal. How was she supposed to write anything? She only had four lines down, but that damned quill cut up her hand at least twenty times already. Frustrated, she laid her punished hand flat on the table and studied it. The cramped, slanted writing looked back at her before burrowing under her skin; it was nothing like her own crisp, practical script. It couldn't be Umbridge's hand either. It wasn't flowery enough. She'd definitely seen it before, though.

Pansy closed her eyes trying to remember. She could hear Potter getting along fine. He scribbled away, almost like his quill wasn't hurting him, while her hand kept getting gouged with every line he wrote.

Wait. The thought echoed in her mind: e _very line he wrote_. Potter, of course. The same goofy lettering featured all over Colin Creevy's Harry Potter scrapbook that she _Incendio_ -ed. Pansy distinctly remembered some signed muggle photos, and discarded assignments Creevy must've fetched from rubbish bins; all in the slanted writing now covering her hand.

Pansy's ears tensed. She heard Potter scratch out another line in his parchment. On cue, an invisible nib traced the line into her hand. That bleeding sod was writing with _her_ blood, so that meant… Pansy gripped the black quill and wrote seven lines in quick succession. She listened again. Potter slowed down. Umbridge giggled at her desk, but pretended it had something to do with the essay in front of her. She was waiting for them to figure it out. Umbridge wanted them to try hurting each other as much as possible. Pansy shouldn't play along, but Potter wrote more than twenty lines already to her four, so she wrote another ten lines. She was just evening things out.

The pain came back with a vengeance. 'I must not tell lies' was scribbled into her hand again and again, retraced before it could disappear. For a minute it almost looked like it had been branded into her. Pansy held her breath to avoid crying, but had to drop her pen to clutch her aching left hand.

Potter could get her back for every time that she got him. He too must have realized what was happening. It wouldn't help either of them to walk out of there with a bloody lump for a hand. She waited. Her parchment had a healthy amount of lines on it. Judging from how much her hand burned, he had more than that.

"I don't see any writing," Umbridge called from her desk in singsong voice. They'd have to at least make a show of writing lines. Pansy traced each letter slowly like she was learning her letters for the first time.

 _Ouch_. Her hand seared as Potter wrote two more. That git. She'd tried going slow so she'd end up writing less in the end, but if he wasn't going to let up, then neither would she. Pansy wrote three lines this time one after the other. Potter came back with five. She clutched her hand, and heard Umbridge croak happily.

She wrote seven more lines to match Potter's, and stretched out her left hand next to the parchment, hoping for some relief. Instead, she felt a constant stinging. The invisible nib traced each letter millimeter by millimeter, prolonging her agony. When it was finally done, Pansy noticed a different message crisscrossing the trenches in her hand. She scrunched her eyes to read it: 'going slow hurts more.' Point taken. Pansy blinked. They should've been communicating from the start. She considered writing on the edge of her parchment or on the desk before rolling up her sleeve and using her arm: 'Fine. Let's switch off every minute. Look busy.'

They had a plan. Pansy peeked toward Umbridge, who merrily graded papers. She'd write a line, then weave the pen a hair's breadth above her parchment to look busy. A few minutes later, Potter would write a line. They continued like this for the rest of detention, for which Pansy was thankful. Her hand had grown numb from being cut up so much.

After what seemed like the entire night, Umbridge rose from her desk. "That will do. Your parchments please." When she came around, Pansy handed her a bloody sheaf. Her head felt light, and she blinked a few times in a vain attempt to find equilibrium. Instead, Pansy stared down at her desk, so Umbridge wouldn't notice. The _ink_ on Umbridge's black quill had already scabbed over. " _Hem, Hem_." Umbridge chirped. "I also require your Inquisitorial Squad badge, Miss Parkinson."

"Excuse me?" She clutched the green inquisitor badge next to her Slytherin prefect one.

"I have the highest standards for my junior inquisitors. We cannot permit members who defy the high inquisitor and hence the ministry itself, or conspire with other students to spread discord and lies." Umbridge looked at Potter. He glared right back. "If tonight's lesson has sunk in, and you're ready to admit to the lies Potter probably persuaded you to tell, then I may reconsider."

"Here." Pansy jammed the pin into Umbridge's clammy ringed fingers. Umbridge must be confunded if she thought Pansy liked delivering reports over mint tea in that cringingly pink office. It was a chance to get on the ministry's good books and lord over the other prefects, nothing more. Now, she didn't have an ounce of loyalty or interest left for the people who dragged the Parkinson name through the mud. Umbridge's smile shrunk a fraction, but she pocketed the badge in her pink cardigan.

Pansy grabbed her things, and followed Potter out. She massaged her sore hand until they parted at a shifting staircase.

"Potter, why didn't you tell anyone?" Pansy asked as he walked up the steps.

"About the quill?" She nodded. "Didn't want to give Umbridge the satisfaction. Wouldn't do any good either way." Stupid Gryffindor bravado.

* * *

"St-stop," Lavender stammered. Silly girl; she should have drawn her wand instead of freezing up against the bathroom wall. _Petrificus Artus._ Pansy locked her limbs together.

"Let's test how well Wilbert Slinkhard's tips work in real life." Pansy dragged her to the nearest toilet. She smiled wickedly at the cowering girl. "I think this is the part where you try to use _peaceable persuasion_ so you don't get duffed up."

"Oww…owwww." She yanked Lavender up by her hair, and dunked her in the loo. Lavender sloshed water all over. Pansy shoved her head up and down, using Lavender's face as a plunger. After a minute, she let Lavender come all the way up. Toilet dunking was unimaginative sure, and the nasty, cold toilet water always got all over her hands, but she couldn't let a threat go unfulfilled.

Lavender coughed, depositing a spray of water back into the toilet. " _Tsk, Tsk_. You're not keeping an open line of dialogue." Pansy took a handful of Lavender's moist hair and plunged her in again. She didn't struggle as much this time, so Pansy bent to her ear and whispered. "Now, repeat after me: 'I must not tell lies'. Say it." The loo gurgled and bubbled as Lavender said the words underwater. "Five more times. A thick-headed cow like you never learns on the first try." The water gurgled frantically as Lavender fought for breath. She barely finished the last refrain. Pansy yanked her hair until Lavender was standing.

She crashed against the wall, coughing, and choking out water. Pansy jabbed Lavender's abdomen with her wand. The force of a bludger hit her stomach, and Lavender ejected the water she was choking on, then sank to her knees. "I-I'm…sorry," Lavender shivered. The water pelted down her robes. Her eyes were puffy and red, but any shed tears got lost in her waterlogged face.

"Now, I'll make this simple enough for even you to understand: if you ever say anything about my family again – anything, good or bad – I will end you. If any of those Gryffindor gits you call friends say anything, I will assume you're behind it."

"That's not fair…it's not my fault if they…" Pansy jabbed her wand at Lavender's arm this time. An electric jolt raced through it, making her squirm.

"Please," Pansy laughed. "You're queen of the Hogwarts rumor mill. They'll listen to you." She spotted Lavender's pink bag and started picking through it. Lavender whimpered in protest, but thought better of it when Pansy pointed her wand again. Pansy dug out a thin purple journal with a simple lock on it. " _Alohomora_." She scanned the pages, and smiled satisfied. "I'm taking this to ensure you don't forget our little chat today."

"T-that's private."

"And it will remain so. If you do as I say." She waved her wand in a circle. Steam wafted off Lavender's robes as they dried. Her shoulder length hair clumped, poked and pointed in all directions. Lavender pushed her bangs out of her eyes, but they sprung right back. Pansy smirked, and pointed her wand again. " _Pilosus Nasum._ " Stiff copper wire hairs grew out of Lavender's nose. "You look fine," Pansy insisted, blocking the only mirror. Eager to get out of there, Lavender didn't object. "After you, then." She waved Brown out the door.

After Lavender scurried out, Pansy washed her hands, and even her wand for good measure. A puddle of water had collected under the toilet she dipped Lavender in. Gross. Pansy looked herself in the mirror. She smiled broadly. After the rubbish treatment she'd been getting from the school and even her own house, it felt great to hand out some retribution. Brown couldn't actually stop all the Gryffindors from spreading their lies, but at least she'd squirm any time one of her friends called the Parkinsons death eater scum. She patted the diary in her bag as she stepped out.

"Pansy Parkinson." McGonagall pursed her lips in a paper-thin line. She crossed her arms and stared down at her. Pansy got the same feeling that Mad Eye used to give her with his swiveling eye; like McGonagall was staring right through her.

"Yes, professor?" She tried sounding innocent, but something told her that McGonagall knew exactly what Pansy had been up to moments ago.

"Miss Brown left the lavatory in tears."

"Really?" _No, McGonagall's just messing with you. Get it together._

"Yes. Would you know anything about that?"

"No, ma'am."

Wrong answer. Minerva walked up and grabbed her arm. "My office, young lady." Professor McGonagall dragged her by the sleeve of her robes down a flight of stairs and through a corridor. They ran into some students heading down for lunch who sniggered as McGonagall pulled her along. The glares she threw back only made her look more like a petulant child. The professor pulled her office door open and led them in without slowing pace. The doorframe rattled behind them. "Please sit."

Pansy settled in a stiff straight-backed chair with a seat too narrow to slouch in. Minerva stared from across her desk like a hawk. Her pointed nose waved up and down, as she tried to sense the girl's guilt instead of asking her anything.

"Professor?" Pansy asked cautiously.

"So you don't know why Miss Brown's nose sprouted dwarf hairs or why she was in such a sorry state?"

Pansy caught herself before saying 'no' again. McGonagall reminded her of Snape the way she looked. She swallowed a lump before answering. "I do know."

"And?"

"I hexed and attacked her in the bathroom." If she cooperated, McGonagall wouldn't pry so much or find out about the _messier_ details either. Pansy shifted in her chair, waiting for another detention. One more heaped on the month's worth she got from Snape didn't seem like a big deal.

"We have zero tolerance for bullying at this school, Parkinson." Pansy swallowed. "As a member of the staff I am inclined to cancel your Hogsmeade privileges until end of fall term, and remove your status as a prefect if there is a further offense."

Pansy bowed her head, trying to look suitably afflicted. Hogsmeade privileges weren't a big deal. These days, nobody other than Daph, Tracey and Blaise wanted to hang out with her anyway. Tracey could always sneak back some butterbeer or Honeydukes for her.

"As your legal guardian, however, I will overlook this matter on two conditions." Minerva waited for her to look up. "First, you must tell me why you did this."

She blinked and stared at McGonagall's desk like a leprechaun had started tap dancing on it. McGonagall was going easy on her? Finally something was turning out in her favor. "Brown said my mum and dad were friends with Sirius Black in dark arts class the other day. After I told her to shut it, she insulted me too. I had to stop her because everyone listens to her. So I hit her and threatened to do worse if she doesn't leave me alone."

McGonagall removed her green square spectacles and rubbed her eyes. "Yes, I heard - at great length - about your behavior in defense class from Umbridge. You should at least have had the sense not to get a detention." Pansy's mouth jerked open to rebut, but McGonagall continued. "We'll come to that in a minute. How is your hand doing?"

Pansy tensed and drew the sleeve of her robe over her left hand. "Fine." She didn't expect her to know about Umbridge's quills. Obviously McGonagall didn't care all that much if Umbridge was still allowed to use that medieval punishment.

"Some Murtlap Essence might help." McGonagall suggested. "Now, I understand Miss Brown can be…difficult, but I cannot condone mistreatment of any student."

"So I'm supposed to just let her and everyone else spread rumors, and celebrate that my mum and dad were killed?"

"No." Minerva took her time composing the glasses back on her nose. "But you are a Slytherin. I expect more cunning and tact from you. Honestly, the way you've behaved…it's as senseless as anything I've seen Potter or Weasley do." Not a trace of mirth lighted McGonagall's face. She was dead serious. The head of Gryffindor just gave her permission to fight back so long as she wasn't caught. McGonagall was more like Snape than she let on.

"And the second condition?"

"I'd like you to take lunch privately with me every Saturday starting today."

The smile on Pansy's face dropped like a rock. She'd known from the start that McGonagall was meddlesome. "Why?"

"I believe regular meetings would benefit both of us." When Pansy looked puzzled, she added. "I don't want to interfere in your life, Miss Parkinson." _Yeah, right_. "But you are my ward for the next two years. I think it's appropriate that we get to know each other, don't you?"

"I suppose…" How else was someone supposed to answer that anyway?

McGonagall gestured to a coffee table between her desk and the door. "Shall we then?" Pansy followed her lead and sat opposite the professor in a squishy red armchair that leaned to one side. Roast beef sandwiches lay on a platter in the center surrounded by steaming scalloped potatoes, sprouts, and a pot of tea.

Each of them focused on food at first. Pansy ate a half step faster than normal without trying to seem impolite. McGonagall thought about how the meeting had gone so far. Fortunately, Parkinson agreed to meet with minimal fuss. The girl might even trust her after a while, though she'd certainly think of Minerva as a nosey parker at first.

They were both almost through lunch and enjoying some vanilla biscuits with tea before McGonagall said anything. "I suppose you must be quite occupied with O.W.L.s this year."

"Not particularly. The professors seem more worried than me, handing out all those extra assignments. Sure, Umbridge's breathing down their backs, but it's rubbish that we should have to suffer…" Pansy crushed a biscuit in her hand. _Stupid, stupid_. She was talking to _Professor_ McGonagall not to Tracey or Daph.

McGonagall smile as if Pansy had just belched in front of her. "I'd like you to pretend that I'm not a professor during our meetings. I just want to know how you're doing, and I appreciate your honesty."

Sure. The transfiguration professor who hardly said a word to her in the last four years wanted to know how she was doing. Not to mention the way she reacted didn't at all match what she said. For someone talking about honesty, she seemed insincere. Pansy merely nodded.

"You are aware that your O.W.L.s will determine your employment opportunities in the future?"

"Yes."

"And have you devoted much thought to a career after Hogwarts?"

"Not entirely…no." Now McGonagall looked at her like some cow dung she'd stepped in. McGonagall didn't say anything, so Pansy filled the silence and defended herself. "There isn't much thinking to do…I'll be inheriting my father's company…I'll just do that." It's what her parents would have wanted. Well, they would've preferred a male heir to continue the law practice and family line, but this was the next best thing.

"Yes, but can't you choose as you please? What do you like to do Pansy?"

"I don't know." Who was McGonagall to judge her anyway? "I like to sit around with my friends and go shopping. Do you think I can make a career out of that?"

"Do you have a favorite subject?"

"Divination." Pansy lied, knowing McGonagall's attitude about that subject.

"Professor Grubbly-Plank told me you really took to unicorns last year. What about something in magizoology?"

"You've been investigating me?"

"Well no…" McGonagall's hawkish eyes widened a fraction. "It's just I didn't know much about you until…"

"What am I, some pet project of yours?"

McGonagall's thin lips shook; ready to rebuke the teenager before reconsidering. "I just want what's best for you, Pansy. Like it or not these last few years will determine who you will become for the rest of your life. Both your employment and your character."

Pansy scowled at the use of her first name. They weren't friends. They weren't even acquaintances. "Oh, so you're worried that I'm going to become some kind of delinquent. Maybe a death eater like you think my parents were?"

"I didn't say…"

"Please. As if anyone at this school DOESN'T think that about my family. I can just imagine you in a few years: Poor little Pansy Parkinson why she'd have graduated from Hogwarts straight to Azkaban if it weren't for dear Ol' PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL."

"Not a delinquent, are you?" McGonagall raised her wand predatorily. Pansy froze. "What is Lavender Brown's private journal doing in your possession then, Miss Parkinson?" She wordlessly _Accio_ 'ed the purple sealed diary from Pansy's rucksack.

The indignity of being searched without warning stopped her for a moment. "Alright. I took it. That doesn't mean I'm going to be a thief when I grow up. In case you don't remember, I'm rich."

"Don't take that tone with me Parkinson. You don't have to think of me as a professor, but I'm not a student you can push around either."

Pansy grabbed her bag and walked to the door. "You know what else you're not? My mum. So don't pretend like you are." The door wouldn't open. She couldn't even turn the knob.

"We're not finished yet."

"You wanted lunch, and we've had it. Now I want to go."

The diary disappeared from McGonagall's hand and apparated back in Pansy's bag. "I want you to return that to Miss Brown, and apologize."

"Fine." The door finally yanked open, and Pansy stormed out. Minerva stared at the slammed door. She shouldn't have lost her temper, but in all her years at Hogwarts she'd never suffered a student to yell at her. She wasn't going to start now.

* * *

Pansy should've sacrificed her Hogsmeade privileges instead. McGonagall was just a ruddy transfiguration professor at seventy, without so much as a cat to take care of. She had no right to criticize her choices. If McGonagall was bored with her life, it didn't mean she had to entertain herself by making Pansy grovel in front of Lavender Brown.

Her stomping feet echoed down the hall. The portraits ahead craned their heads in her direction expecting a mountain troll to lumber down the hall. Their intrigued whispers almost distracted Pansy from the hushed voices and hurried feet scattering ahead of her, but she caught an unmistakable tuft of orange hair disappearing behind a door.

Weasley charging into a classroom on a Saturday afternoon; they were up to something. Pansy stomped past them, and built up a good distance before doubling back. Umbridge may have kicked her out of the inquisitorial squad, but how would it look if an unassuming prefect foiled Potter's plans when Umbridge and the junior inquisitors could not? Pansy pulled out an extendable ear she confiscated from a Hufflepuff and put it near the door.

"We should ask her." Potter.

"Harry, I'm your best mate, but are you mental? No way we can trust someone like that."

"Just think what it would mean having someone from their house helping us."

"Helping? That's optimistic." Pansy could just imagine Granger's scoff. "I've said it once, I'll say it again: she's thicker than a concussed troll, Harry. What's she supposed to do, spy on Draco for you? Please, she's no help to the DA." This was definitely about their little illicit club. She could burst in right now and get them on conspiracy, but it was three to one, their favor. Potter was pretty good with a wand too.

"'mione's right," Weasley sounded far too eager to agree with Granger. "She's no good. Remember in third year? She flat out refused to face a boggart in Lupin's class." They were talking about her!

"Well, yeah, but Voldemort –." Weasley _eeped._ " – Voldemort killed her parents. She's not exactly going to run to them with open arms, right? You saw her in Umbridge's class this week."

"Look, Harry," Granger sighed like she was arguing that fire is hot. Apparently, Granger talked to even her friends with the superiority of an insufferable know-it-all. "I know you're happy to vouch for anyone who believes you about You-Know-Who, but when has Parkinson ever been more than a vile snob that hands out insults so Malfoy will at least look at her? It's pathetic. She's pathetic. Just bringing her to a meeting will scare off everyone else from ever showing up again. She's hexed more than half of them."

Funny how Granger never had it in her to say those things to Pansy's face. If she ever did, Pansy would only be too happy to take the muggleborn's wand and shove it up her arse. Then, wring her neck like the spindly chicken she was.

"You're right." Potter agreed. "Alright, forget I mentioned it." She could hear them walking to the door, and scrambled into the next classroom.

"You think she at least knows some cool dark arts? You know, being a nutty blood purist and all?" Weasley asked as they passed by her.

Pansy snarled viciously after they'd gone, and continued out to the grounds. Granger was one to talk. She ran away screaming from that same boggart in the half-breed's class. Her greatest fear was failing exams. _That_ was pathetic. Or what about the year before? Millicent thumped Granger in the dueling club before she could even draw her wand. Pansy left the entrance hall. The icy wind whipped at her face, but with her blood boiling, she felt nothing. Potter fainted if someone even said the word 'dementor.' Spiders did the same to Weasley. Screw them.

She was about to sit down at a tree beside the forbidden forest, but she didn't even want to look at Hogwarts right then. Pansy marched into the forest instead. " _Incisus_ " a flurry of cutting hexes sliced some tree trunks. McGonagall thought she had no future. Draco and Umbridge thought she was a pet to be thrown away at their convenience. The golden trio thought she was pathetic. " _Incisus_." She attacked a row trees, putting their faces on them. They thought she was pathetic; _just like Mum and Dad did._

She'd show them. What Umbridge only suspected, Pansy already knew; the Gryffindors were meeting to learn dark arts. She just had to catch them doing it, then send a message to the minister directly.


	6. Planning The Counteroffensive

_A/N: My laptop had to be coaxed through a minor technical crisis to get this up on time, so it's a little rough around the edges. I really wanted to get this up though because this chapter is about planting a lot of seeds for things to come in the future. I might be able to finish another chapter before the year is out, but not promises._

 _Special thanks to_ **Ariely** _and_ **Hope and Chocolate** _for their reviews, and a (regular?) thanks to the rest of you reading this. Hope you enjoy._

 _\- x_

* * *

It was simple really. _Phase 1:_ Break into the private potions storeroom. Swat away NEWT level defensive spells with her wand like flies. Sneak past a sleeping Professor Snape, and secure a bottle of Veritaserum. _Phase 2:_ Abduct Draco Malfoy. Employ a _Petrificus_ _Totalus_ or stunning spell of her choosing. Strap him to a chair in a hidden location, and force the entire bottle down his throat for dramatic effect. _Phase 3:_ Have Draco spill every last detail Lucius told him about her parents, and a few extra secrets for any future blackmail as required. Obliviate and deposit the target in a broom closet for Filch to find. Mission Accomplished.

Her best plan sounded like she'd recycled it from a secret agent novel. Pansy crossed out a doodle of a ferret bound to a chair. Doodly hieroglyphics recorded her plans and framed her elegantly written charms notes. Well, it was her second best plan actually. She'd set her likeliest hope in motion this morning with a letter to Mr. Howell. Pansy requested every sealed file pertinent to her father's cases. If bluffing didn't work, then she could really get hold of the Malfoys' secrets, and twist Draco's arm a bit. With any luck, the clout she had as majority owner of the firm would disarm any professional, ethical or whatever objections the fuddy duddy lawyer would have.

"Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle, if you'd please." Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice reeled her attention back in. Anyone who didn't know him would swear the professor had a rubber duck stuck in his throat. "Just a simple demonstration." He guided an oak log, longer and wider than him, with his wand to the center of class. "Now boys, I'd like you to light this firewood."

He must've picked Crabbe and Goyle for the ease of the task. After four years of careful observation, Pansy was forced to conclude that the pair shared a single brain between them. And it was occupied most of the time with breathing, and with stealing cauldron cakes from passing second years. The pair raised their arms, as thick as the log they were supposed to light, and shouted together: " _Incendio_." Two beams arched from their wands to the floating log, but were absorbed on contact. Crabbe and Goyle shook their wands like a broken watch until Flitwick's expression told them their performance had been satisfactory.

"Excellent. As you can see, we will be studying the _Flama Impervius_ charm today." Flitwick waved his wand over his head to cast a fiend fyre spell. Two large coils of fire wrapped the severed tree trunk before being sucked out of existence. Pansy muffled a snort with her right hand and hid behind her textbook. Flitwick's little black suit and the elegant wand flourishes made him look like a munchkin orchestra conductor. A shame really. As far as professors went, Flitwick was actually rather nice. Exactly why Pansy was banking on him helping her out.

"The _Flama Impervius_ charm became OWL standard in the thirteenth century when keeping dragons became fashionable among noble houses both Magical and muggle. Of course then OWLs were called NARFs..."

For all Daphne and the others knew, she had chosen to put her head down and forget about Draco. But really, she just had to sit and wait now. She'd made more progress with Potter as well. All thanks to Lavender's diary. If it could be called that. She preferred to think of it as word vomit in purple ink scribbled on the flesh of dead trees who'd rather have been turned into toilet paper. Pansy scanned through the pages that Saturday night. Sheaf after sheaf of the same thoughts and questions: 'I saw Seamus making eyes at me the other day', 'I wonder if Dean likes me, or if he and Seamus...', and so on. Like Pansy was one to judge. Her diary was little more than a 215 page field journal on Draco Malfoy. That and a collection of unicorn sketches. At least she had the sense to transfigure the thing into a paperweight when she wasn't using it. Lavender's journal required a key with two teeth; clearly meant for an eight year old. How tacky.

Among the mind numbing entries, Pansy found one that was remarkably brief for the gushing girl: _Going_ _to_ _meet_ _Harry_ _and_ _his f_ _riends_ _at_ _the_ _Hog's_ _Head_ _tomorrow._ _Hoping_ _for_ _more a_ _bout_ _Cedric_. Two lines dated near the start of October a few weeks before Pansy stole the journal. Nothing was written about the meeting afterward.

"Swish, arch, flick and point..." Pansy half registered the motions Flitwick was going through. He pointed the spell at a flask of lamp oil like he was fencing with it. The movements looked easy enough, she'd just borrow Blaise's notes later to be sure.

Even if the meeting had been a bust, Lavender was sure to write _something_ down. The way Gryffindor worshipped at the altar of St. Potter, Pansy expected nothing less. The meeting must have been about something even Lavender Brown had sense enough not to write about. One thing was certain: Potter wouldn't hold a secret meeting to jabber about Cedric Diggory. He'd sooner distribute pamphlets outside the great hall. This was it. Saturday October 5th at the Hog's Head. That was the day Potter initiated his secret dueling club. Umbridge would eat the Inquisitorial Squad badge she'd taken from Pansy for that information. Not that Pansy felt like sharing.

Only...Lavender Brown was in Potter's secret club? Granger didn't even like her. If she was a member, then most of Gryffindor must be in on it too. Considering the way Potter drooled after Cho Chang these days, and the sickening, shy doe eyes she responded with, Potter would never let Brown in but not Cho. That poor sap Harry Potter. He must've admitted anyone he trusted. Which meant, she could snoop on any of Potter's friends and the trail would lead back to him.

Lavender was a sure bet, though, and Pansy already had an in with the diary. Since her discovery, she'd tried, tried, tried day after day. Sacrificing meals, sleep, and a sliver of her sanity to learn the Protean charm. Daphne and Blaise thought she'd finally lost her mind when a small squadron of owls carpet-bombed a tray of bacon with twenty copies of Lavender's journal from Flourish and Blotts, nearly splitting the Slytherin table in half.

"Hmm, Hmm." Flitwick coughed to reign in the class's attention. "For next lesson, I expect one parchment from each of you – yes Miss Granger?"

"Sir, are there any specific titles you recommend we study?"

"No essays this time. The assignment will be a rehearsal for the OWL practical. Please submit one sheet with only your name on it that is impervious to fire." Flitwick stepped down the stack of books atop his chair to see the class out. Many of the students waved eagerly; glad to avoid another writing assignment.

"Coming, Pans?" Tracey got up.

"Go ahead, I'll see everyone at the library later." After a week of failure, there was only one other thing to try if she couldn't learn the spell.

"Miss Parkinson?" Flitwick hadn't noticed his student until he'd climbed back onto his desk.

"Professor, I'm wondering if I might ask for your help with something." Pansy walked up to him.

"About your missing summoning charm essay, perhaps?"

"No..." She'd spent so much time on that damned spell; she hadn't done any of her assignments this week – except for Snape's of course. "I'm really sorry about that professor...it's just you see..." She tried to look sad and let him fill in the blanks.

"I understand the past weeks have been difficult, Miss Parkinson, but I do still expect the work. You're only cheating yourself by avoiding assignments." True to Ravenclaw, he was a stickler for due dates. Hopefully, he'd also be sympathetic to the 'pursuit of knowledge'. That was probably the best angle to play.

"I didn't do the assignment, you see, because I got caught up trying to learn this spell, the Protean charm, and..." His stubbled nose zeroed in on her as if it could smell deceit. Standing on his desk he was Pansy's height. She reached for her bag to try explaining. "You see...my friend Madeleine from...Beauxbatons, is going to spend some time in the French countryside, and I was hoping to send her a special gift before she leaves this week." She withdrew two blank journals from her bag and placed them on the desk. "I'd like to enchant these two journals so anything written in one, will appear in the other. That way I don't have to send my poor owl all the way to France and back every other day with letters." She didn't even have an owl, or a friend Madeleine, but Flitwick didn't know that.

"Brilliant. What a thoughtful and inventive idea." Flitwick beamed and Pansy couldn't help smiling too. "Go on, let's see your spell work then."

Pansy withdrew two sheets of parchment from her bag and weaved her wand through the air in figure eights and arcs. She punctuated the motions with a loud _Proteus_. "You see," she took the first paper and wrote her name on it. Not even a speck of ink appeared on the second. "I can't get the desired effect. But I know some kind of connection is created." This time, she took the paper with her name on it, and tore it down the middle. Immediately, a fault line appeared along the second parchment, cleaving it in two without a sound. "I've been trying all week, but only destructive effects seem to work."

Flitwick examined the original parchment and its twin. The rips were identical. It was good work indeed. His nose nearly touched the parchment. It reminded Pansy of Trelawney's intensity while palm reading. "I suspect your intent is not specific enough," he finally said.

"Intent?"

Flitwick chuckled. "Had you done this week's assignment, you'd know all about that. OWL grade charms and beyond require using precise methods of visualization, called intents, to be cast correctly. Refer to pages 405 to 519 in your text, for a brief introduction to the subject. Afterward, I'll be glad to help you through the later stages of developing your spell work." He chirped still looking at the parchments. "You've made brilliant progress despite not knowing any of the required charms theory. I'd say, in a month's time you should be able to cast the charm without a problem."

Bugger all. She didn't have that much time. "I see." She let her face wilt, and flushed the enthusiasm out of her voice. With the speed and cheer of a glacier, she picked up the journals and put them in her bag.

"Something wrong, Miss Parkinson?"

"No, not really." She stared at her bag intently as she zippered it. "It's just...I really wanted to send these out to Madeleine before she left this week." She went for the door. "Thank you, professor."

"Miss Parkinson?" He'd swallowed her act, hook, line and sinker. She allowed the smile on her lips to melt away first before facing him. "As this is an extra-curricular endeavor, I can cast the charm for you, Miss Parkinson. That is if you promise to have your summoning charms essay by next class, and continue studying the Protean yourself. I wouldn't want to discourage your new-found interest in charms."

"Oh, thank you." Pansy tried to look grateful, though she hadn't expected the extra work. In an eye blink she had both journals laid out again for Flitwick to marshal his wand through the air and wordlessly cast the charm over them.

Smiling, he handed her the journals. "Your attention always seems to be elsewhere in class, Miss Parkinson, but as usual your wand movement and intonation is superb. If only you'd dedicate yourself to the theory, you could be one of my best students."

He was complimenting and calling her lazy at the same time. Pansy didn't know how to react other than with an awkward "really..." Charms did come easy to her, at least before OWL year, but her a good student? That would be the day.

"Study the pages I mentioned. I'll be glad to answer any questions you have. I'd encourage joining the charms club, but we still don't have approval from Professor Umbridge to reconvene. Vicky Frobisher is still running our private library, if you're interested."

Pansy felt too guilty to admit she'd just been learning the charm for this one use, and otherwise didn't really care about it. She just smiled politely on the way out with a non-committal "thank you, professor."

As soon as she reached the hall, Pansy broke into a sprint to her room. Pugsy Parkinson posters littered the common room floor, causing Pansy to sprint-slide to the girls' dormitory entrance. She pulled Lavender's diary from her trunk and set it beside one of the freshly charmed journals. " _Papyrus_ _Effingus_." It was a simple spell she used to copy Blaise or Daphne's notes when she needed them. Clones of the sentences in Lavender's diary lifted off the page, and she guided them to one of the charmed journals. The writing soon presented itself on the twin as well. Pansy inspected Lavender's original diary. There were some creases she'd have to duplicate manually, but she could make it look convincing. After that, she'd give the book back to Lavender, and wait. She'd either write something incriminating, or if she didn't, maybe there'd be some hint about when and where Potter's group met.

* * *

"Come in Pansy." A spread of pork chops and salad stood in procession on McGonagall's coffee table. Pansy sunk into the same squashed red armchair as the week before, feeling she should've stayed in the Slytherin commons and had a house elf bring down food. One meeting should've been enough for McGonagall to realize that their relationship would work better based on transactions. Pansy gave her a Hogsmeade permission slip. McGonagall signed it. McGonagall took Pansy to Diagon Alley for supplies. Pansy made the trip as quick and painless as possible. No words exchanged. Simple and done with.

"How are you?"

"I see we're pretending like the last meeting didn't happen," Pansy spat.

McGonagall's thin smile retreated just a hair. "We both behaved regrettably. I'd like to start again, if that's alright. I was serious about getting to know each other."

Pansy's chin dipped up and down. "In that case, it's only fair that I get to know you better, professor. Otherwise, it just feels like you're interrogating me."

McGonagall blinked a few times like a stupefied pixie. "Yes...of course." She had decades of first-hand experience to know that no student actually cares about his professors' lives outside of class. Miss Parkinson's intentions were likely less than benign. "An exciting quidditch match, wasn't it?"

"I didn't go."

"Really, why not?" Pansy shrugged, not bothering with words. It was a stupid question to ask. Everyone knew she was a pariah in Slytherin. She and Madam Pince must've been the only ones who missed the opening game of the year. Madam Pince had actually been ready to throw her out on basis of suspicious behavior (missing the game) when _Weasley is our King_ chants rippled across the school grounds and invaded even the library's stone walls. They were rivaled only by Lee Jordan's amplified shouting when, _big surprise_ , Potter yet again caught the snitch and bailed out his team. No wonder McGonagall was in a good mood.

"That's a nice pendant." Pansy complimented the tasteful gold lion around McGonagall's neck. "Pity the gold trim is flaking off. Where did you get it?"

"Diagon Alley." McGonagall tucked the chain and its gem under her gown.

"Ah, yes, I remember seeing Mundungus Fletcher hawking something like that from his trench coat in front of Madam Malkin's; trying to pass it off as real gold." Pansy offered.

McGonagall ignored the remark. "How have you been this week?"

"Well. Thank you."

"If Mr. Malfoy or anyone else has been bothering you, I trust you'll let me know."

 _Not likely_ , Pansy thought as she nodded. Her turn to ask something. "And how have you been professor?"

McGonagall echoed Pansy's response. "Well. Thank you for asking."

"Any troubles _you'd_ like to share with _me_?" McGonagall stared at her blankly. Time for Pansy to show she could be nosy and overbearing too. "No quarrels with a significant other? Or a pet cat at least?"

McGonagall's teacup rattled against its plate. She'd gone too far. Pansy cringed waiting to get blown away by the hurricane she'd just set off. McGonagall's chest swelled ready to let loose a gale-force scolding. At the last, Minerva took a slow breath, evoking the quiet devastation of the eye of the storm instead. "There hasn't been anyone in my life since Elphinstone passed."

Pansy waited for the crack in the façade or a hint of a smile to tell her the professor was joking. But McGonagall wasn't the type. The crawling seconds told her McGonagall was dead serious. Pansy wanted her ratty armchair to swallow her whole. She doubted many students, or any at all, knew that McGonagall lost her husband. McGonagall was genuine about knowing her, even willing to open herself up, and here Pansy was acting like the whole thing was a big laugh.

Professor McGonagall seemed too weary to ask any other questions. She was looking anywhere, but at Pansy. Minutes passed marked only by the soft crunching of biscuits and the pouring of tea. The silence was suffocating Pansy, "Sorry..." McGonagall nodded. Pansy tried feebly to restart the conversation, "so...quidditch."

McGonagall started slowly, gathering the energy to make another effort. "Yes, it was an exciting game. Somehow Gryffindor pulled through."

"What was the score?"

"We were down forty to ten until Mr. Potter caught the snitch."

Pansy didn't want to hear about how Potter saved the day again. "I heard Ronald Weasley choked as keeper and Potter got a lifetime ban." She smirked.

A dark shadow crossed McGonagall's face. "Potter _and_ the Weasley twins got lifetime bans."

Pansy whistled a long note, imitating a shrill tea kettle. "I've never even heard of Madam Hooch giving more than a one match suspension."

"Umbridge," McGonagall corrected.

Pansy's nose wrinkled like something foul just stepped into the room. Her left hand was still an angry scarlet from her detention last week. "For what? Hurting Malfoy's self-esteem when they crushed him?"

Minerva didn't engage in gossip even at sixteen, but if today it meant progress with Pansy, so be it. "They punched Draco Malfoy shortly after the match. I understand Mr. Malfoy said a few tasteless remarks about their families."

"Fools." Pansy accused. "He was obviously baiting them."

"Yes. Although, it was a rather..." McGonagall took a chance, " _dirty_ trick."

Pansy dismissed the remark. "Every good quidditch player knows that a game neither beings nor ends on the pitch. Gwenog Jones once sent a ten-hour singing elf-a-gram to Puddlemere's seeker, Benjy Williams, the night before the league final. Williams fell asleep on his broom, and the Harpies won 230 to 20."

"I didn't realize you're such a fan of the game." McGonagall smiled for the first time since Pansy walked into her office. "Maybe we can talk about that next time."

Pansy looked at her watch. The last ten minutes had melted away. "Sure," she said evenly, walking to the door.

"Oh. One more thing Miss Parkinson."

"Yes?"

"Is there a reason you decided to skip all of your assignments this week?"

Just when Pansy started to think the transfiguration professor wasn't so bad, McGonagall had to spring this on her. Pansy improvised. "I wasn't feeling good. I kept dreaming of mum and dad and..." She stared at the doorknob and hoped McGonagall would interpret her meandering words as laced with sadness and not dishonesty.

"As I thought." Pansy's shoulders relaxed. "...until Professor Flitwick bragged in the staff room that you nearly mastered the Protean charm. He may have said something about a set of _purple_ journals too." The sweat came so quickly her hand felt hot-glued to the doorknob. How was she going to explain this one away?

McGonagall, however, didn't give her a chance to. "I'm glad you do have extracurricular interests after all. Just be sure to do your assignments this week, Miss Parkinson." Before Pansy knew it, she was on the other side of McGonagall's office; the door between them. Did McGonagall think she was still just messing with Lavender Brown? Or did McGonagall know something about Potter's dueling club? It was another minute before Pansy realized she was free to go.


	7. Pansy Strikes Back

_A/N: Some busy holidays and a busted hard drive later (thank Merlin for dropbox), I'm finally able to get this out. For anyone reading regularly: thanks for being patient, and hope you had some happy holidays._

 _Special thanks to_ _ **Ariely**_ _and_ _ **Hey It's That Guy**_ _for their reviews._

 _\- x_

* * *

"Straighten that tie Parkinson." Escorting her between classes became Draco's favorite pastime in the weeks following his humiliating defeat to Potter on the quidditch pitch. Usually she'd hit back with her own insults and taunts, but today she was in no mood. Two hours of pruning devil's snare and defoliating Malaysian stinging camellias took a lot out of you.

Daphne and Tracey slipped between her and Draco. They had a twenty minute break in the paved courtyard until charms started, and she could use some quiet for once. She heard Draco yell at them to move before her pace quickened. Pansy entered the courtyard, and spotted a shadowy place among a corridor of columns. Before she could get there, Warrington and the rest of the quidditch team swooped around from both sides and circled her. Crap.

"Parkinson."

"Not getting away that easily today." Draco sneered. Some of the other houses noticed the Slytherin team huddled around Pansy and stepped closer to overhear, leaving Pansy to wonder just where the hell the professor overseeing break was.

Pansy could take advantage of a captive audience, though. She painted an exasperated look on her face and exclaimed theatrically. "No, Draco. For the last time, I WILL NOT take you back." She shoved him, and tried to squeeze past Warrington and Montague, but they were a stone wall. "I don't care what desperate measures you and Warrington have to take together in your dormitory. The answer is still NO." She huffed, trying to push through. Faint chuckles from the students behind the fence of Slytherins reached her ears.

"Cute," Draco smiled at her tirade. "Not that I'm surprised to hear you _barking_ for attention, Parkinson. We all know how much of a _mutt_ you are." Pansy faced him and rolled her eyes. That insult wasn't clever the first time around much less four years later. "But for anyone out here who doesn't know…" His sentence broke in a cliffhanger, and he raised his arms over his head. Draco conducted an improvised choir as the team sang:

 _ **On a cold day in May**_

 _ **A woman Helena did lay**_

 _ **With a beast barking mad at the sun**_

 _ **So was born our girl, Parkinson**_

Warrington, Pucey, Crabbe and Goyle brayed like mules as they sang. She could point it out, but their throaty singing would blow away her voice like the cold wind did to her shivering breath.

 _ **With a blink and a shrug**_

 _ **Her husband welcome the young pug**_

The rest of Slytherin joined in, taming the quidditch team's booming chants into a ringing carol. Blaise and the girls formed a shield around Pansy as the quidditch team danced around her like she was a tribal bonfire. They shoved through Pansy's friends.

 _ **But with time he came to doubt**_

 _ **Suspicious of her squashed snout**_

She slapped away a hand that tried flicking her nose.

 _ **A girl none too nimble of wit**_

Another patted her head.

 _ **Sporting porkish fat, he did admit**_

Montague pinched her left cheek.

 _ **Could not be truly of his kin**_

 _ **Most likely born of a bargain bin**_

They danced outward, the solid wall of Slytherins around her become a cage with wide gaps for the onlookers to gawk. They might've hoped for tears, or anything at this point, but Pansy remained rooted in one spot. The rage of a tempest on the inside, but the calm of an oak tree on the outside. She wasn't going to let this go, but had to be patient for the right moment to retaliate. Their voices reached a crescendo.

 _ **Till over vermouth**_

 _ **Helena spilled all the truth**_

 _ **That with a dog she did lie**_

 _ **And in shame they both decided to die!**_

Laughter skittered off the cobbled steps, zipped around the columns, bounced off the walkways and pelted Pansy from all directions. They were all expecting a reaction. The only way she could win was to not give them one; force Draco to come to her.

She turned to Tracey. "Did you finish that sketch for Herbology last period?" They went to sit on some nearby steps with Blaise and Daphne following behind. She chose the spot strategically. Not so far away from Draco as to make it look like a retreat.

"Nothing to say?" Malfoy called. "Is the shame too much to bear Parkinson?"

Pansy slouched against her bag, crossed her legs, and answered lazily, but loud enough for the non-Slytherins to hear. "I'm beside myself with embarrassment – to be serenaded by the quidditch team that the Gryffindorks trounced; I'd hoped for better." Graham Montague and Adrian Pucey's eyes flashed dangerously at her. Two weeks on, and the defeat still tasted bitter. "You know, in nobler cultures they have the decency to commit seppuku after such a disgrace."

Shushes quieted some of the non-Slytherins who were still laughing over Draco's song. Now that she had their attention, she could remind them that Malfoy wasn't their friend. "At least everyone can be proud you got Potter banned. Just do the same to Cho Chang and Summerby, then you'll be the best seeker in school with a guaranteed quidditch cup for Slytherin!"

The Gryffs and Claws edged closer as the Slytherin team moved to circle her again, probably for an encore performance. Graham Montague got tangled in a shouting match with Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. Crabbe and Goyle looked ready to draw wands against Weasel and Potter. Pansy smiled, having stolen the smirk clean off Draco's face. Seeing his players dissolve into arguments with other teams, Malfoy pushed past Longbottom and ordered the Slytherin team to retreat back to class.

He snarled. "Careful Parkinson, you won't have this lot of ruffians with you next time."

It only egged her on. Pansy called after him. " _Weasley is our King_ was such a hit, maybe we need a chant for you. Something like: "

 _ **Malfoy is so Ace,**_

 _ **On a broom he has no grace,**_

 _ **The snitch he'll never chase,**_

 _ **Even if it stares him in the face…**_

"…and so on. I'm sure you can come up with more." Her voice carried down the corridor after Malfoy. It was the first time she could honestly say her old singing lessons paid off. The other houses laughed along. She even earned some clapping from the Weasley twins for her performance. It stung her pride a little to pander to Gryffindors, but against all of Slytherin there wasn't much else she could do.

* * *

"Here's our little teacher's pet." Draco. Again. "Careful, I think Granger might get jealous." Pansy stayed behind after charms to discuss her continued work on the Protean charm, and it evidently didn't escape Malfoy's notice.

Ignoring him, Pansy sat down next to Blaise, and tucked in. Soon after, a flurry of flapping wings and letters distracted her from the roast chicken on her plate. Winter holiday was fast approaching. Parents were finalizing holiday plans and creating a blizzard of letters in the process. Pansy still had no idea what she'd be doing during break. Probably staying at Hogwarts. She prepared to bury the dismal thought with spoonfuls of pudding before she noticed Lavender brown receive a small square parcel in red wrapping paper.

Pansy elbowed Blaise and whispered to the girls. "Looks like Brown's about to open a very special gift from her secret admirer."

Tracey snorted, and Daph shook her head, but neither of them turned around, lest someone see them. Not that they had to. Lavender squealed loud enough for everyone as she tore open the package. In a swift motion she coiled a handmade bracelet around her left wrist, and showed it off. She clutched the accompanying note to her chest, only showing it to Parvati, who giggled madly after reading it.

Pansy choked on her pumpkin juice. Brown's reaction was even better than she'd imagined. Lavender's hand made a tour of the girls next to her before she displayed it prominently at the table, sleeve drawn back for Seamus Finnigan to take special notice.

Tracey made a discrete quarter turn to spy on the girl. "No reaction from Finnigan. I wonder when he'll get the picture."

"Boys do tend to be rather thick about such things." Daphne mused. "But that just makes it more exciting in the end." Blaise was the only one of the group who apparently found the enchanted ceiling much more exciting.

Pansy wasn't deterred. " _I've nothing more to offer than this humble gift and my sincerest love. A small testament to the auburn of your perfect locks and_ …" She recited as much as she could before breaking down.

"How's she supposed to even know it's from Finnigan?" Blaise asked.

"That's just the introduction." Daphne said. "We put obvious clues into it like 'your eyes make my heart beat faster than a Ceili dance' and 'you're more breathtaking than the Cliffs of Moher'."

"Just for laughs," Tracey said. "We added some really silly lines like 'when I get close, your hair smells of home; lamb and stewed cabbage'." The three girls giggled, drawing attention from the other Slytherins who still sat apart.

"There's only one Irish student she has her eyes on." Pansy took a deep breath. She didn't need to explain that she'd read this straight out of Lavender's diary. "She'll assume it's Finnigan. And after she makes an arse of herself around him, she'll go through the roster of other Irish students trying to find out who sent it."

"Girls…" Blaise muttered. Let him and the others think this was petty revenge for Lavender's accusations in Umbridge's class. Pansy took care of that problem weeks ago when she stole Brown's journal. This was about something else. In almost a month's time, Brown hadn't given her a single useful lead on Potter. Pansy was, however, now intimately aware of how bad Brown had it for Finnigan. And she could at least turn that infatuation to her advantage. There was a tracking charm on the bracelet, and a map of Hogwarts in her rucksack to go with it.

Just as she ladled a final helping of pudding, an underfed owl dive-bombed her bowl. The tired creature looked so droopy and half dead, Pansy could swear it was just poorly embalmed. Ripping a galleon-sized hole in the packaging, pansy satisfied herself that her jar of powdered horn of bicorn was safe. She put some galleons in the creature's pouch, and plunged the package into her bag before her friends could ask. This very minute, the next phase of her plans against Potter was simmering in a cauldron under her bed. Before November was out, she'd have infiltrated his group, and have gathered all the evidence she needed.

In an effort to avoid questions, Pansy nodded and smiled toward Lavender as she rushed out to catch Finnigan. The girls laughed again. They got up to leave as well, when Draco passed by and placed an imperious hand on Daphne's shoulder. "I'll see you at tonight's meeting, Greengrass." He drummed out each word louder than needed.

Daphne nodded as Draco left then fiddled with her hair. "Look…don't be mad, but…" Her last few words crashed together "…I-took-your-place-in-the-inquisitorial-squad." She flinched as Pansy's rucksack pounded on the floor.

"Umbridge replaced me with _you_?" Pansy tasted vinegar on her tongue as Daphne nodded stiffly. "Don't be silly. Why would I be mad that one of my only friends is consorting with an enemy?"

"Consorting?" Tracey tried to diffuse the situation with a snicker. Pansy's glare would've withered a tropical rainforest.

"I was going to tell you…I mean you'd have noticed anyway…once I started wearing the badge… Umbridge just cornered me in the hall…a few days ago…"

"…And forced you to join at wand point." Pansy completed. She tried to catch Blaise's reaction out of the corner of her eyes, but as usual he was a statue.

"No…but it was a one-time offer…and I thought it would help…to have an insider in their ranks." Blaise nodded appreciatively. "And the way Malfoy's been abusing his power…I could, you know, be a little fairer."

"Please. They aren't masterminding anything more important than their next excuse for taking points from the Gryffindorks, or figuring out what stupid name they're going to call me next." Pansy scoffed. "Like we really need insider information for that."

"Pansy…" Blaise put his hand over hers, but she pulled away.

"You see it, Blaise, don't you? Umbridge doesn't give a toad's spleen about Daphne. Draco put her up to it. He wants to tear us apart." They knew she was right. "That part about having someone on the inside. It works both ways. He wants someone that's close to me."

"I would never –"

"Daphne's the most loyal Slytherin I know." Tracey stood up.

"I didn't say that she would betray anyone." Pansy waved Tracey back down before addressing Daphne. "Except, I know you, Daph. You won't be standing up to Draco. Come down to it, you'll give in and become the unwilling witness to whatever he does. When that happens, I don't know if I'll be able to look at you the same way." Daphne dropped her gaze to the table. The pretty blonde looked like a wilted flower, and Pansy couldn't help feeling responsible, even Daphne's own thoughtless actions were to blame. "I am mad. But I'll get over it." She forced a bitter chuckle that at least resurrected the smile on Daphne's face.

"We can figure out a way for this to work out." Blaise put his arm around Daphne as they all finally left the Great Hall.

* * *

After a long day, she was going to bed early. Pansy swished a gulp of water to banish the dry toothpaste flavor on her tongue. She walked to her room, and waved good night to Tracey and Daph, both working on a potions assignment.

Pansy drew back the curtains around her four poster bed – and froze. Her blood turned to ice. Her heart stopped.

Time stood still, except for the captured memory playing on repeat before her eyes. Dad picked her up and perched her on his shoulders. Repeat. Mum said something and smoothed his jacket with her left. Repeat. She did it again, clutching a graceful wineglass in her other hand. Repeat. Pansy was four, smiling and then plucking the same grape from a vine. Again. And again. Again.

"Is everything alright, Pans?" Tracey reeled her back in from infinity. She walked over and the picture frame lying on Pansy's bed stole her breath.

A fake? All the details were right: mum's scowl, dad's old aloofness. Her heart told her it happened once; even if her brain couldn't remember. How did it get in her dorm? Pansy stared dumbly at Tracey and Daph, not noticing when they arrived next to her. "Did – did one of you put this on my b-bed?" She hoped it were true, but knew it couldn't be. Tracey was a half-blood, and the Greengrass family was never close to the Parkinsons. She didn't even look as they both shook their heads.

"Who could've done this?" Tracey asked.

That didn't matter. What mattered was where the picture came from. Considering all he'd done that day, she could think of only one person: Draco. He could've convinced any Slytherin girl to deposit the portrait.

But why did he have it? It was such a private moment in her family's life. A rare scene where they were all smiling and happy. It wasn't the kind of thing mum would gift away, or even display at home. For someone else – for _him_ – to know about it and not her…

 _He must've been there._ The though boiled her icy veins. Lucius Malfoy must've been there to see the light leave her parents eyes. He skulked around the house taking valuables like a common thief; maybe looking for that ring her dad was fixing. Pansy's intestines tied into knots. Draco lost his little battle in the courtyard today, and it gnawed at his ego. He had to put Pansy in her place. Remind her that he and his family had influence over any dimension of her life. He could dig something up that she didn't even know about.

But he'd also given her definitive proof. Lucius had been there, and Draco knew.

"What are you going to –" Pansy slammed the door on Daphne's question. The glass of the picture frame shuddered under her grip. She marched to a familiar leather armchair where Draco read by the fireplace.

"What is this?" Pansy pushed the book away from Draco's face with her picture frame.

"Very nice." Draco appraised the portrait and propped his feet on an ottoman.

"WHAT IS THIS?"

"A family portrait. Used to preserve and remember fond familial moments." Draco explained patiently. "And this," he held up the hardcover in his hands, _Archimago to Grindelwald: Powerful Wizards Through The Ages_. "…is a book, B-O-O-K." When she didn't leave he added, "I'm sorry have you forgotten your letters also?"

"Cut the rubbish." Pansy kicked the ottoman away. Daphne and Tracey swept in from their dormitory. Draco dog-eared the corner of the page he read.

"Pans." Daphne called. Tracey's hand already hovered over her wand, even though Malfoy was the picture of tranquility.

The placid confusion in Draco's eyes was so convincing Pansy found herself explaining what he must already know. "You had one of your sycophantic harpies put this in my room." She shook the frame in front of his face.

"Oh, yes. My favored pastime: collecting private photographs, and then returning them when they're least expected. It's positively evil." Some Slytherins around them chuckled. "You probably forgot about the blasted thing – I know I'd want to – and just found it in your trunk." He bent forward to get up from his chair, but Pansy planted an arm at the hand rest.

Face to face, Pansy could smell the mint in his breath. Neither of them saw the score of Slytherin students who abandoned their half-written assignments to get closer. "Your father took it from my house didn't he? The day they died." Pansy hissed.

"You're losing it." Draco smirked. "Did hearing the truth today about mother Parkinson hurt that much? Or is it that I've started plucking away at your only friends?" His head flicked toward Daphne. "Is the loneliness already too much to bear?"

"He was there, wasn't he?" Her grip on the armrest cut creases into the chair's leather.

"We've been through this before." He pushed around her.

"Deny it all you want. After he watched the Dark Lord murder them, he skulked through my house like a common thief." The conviction in her voice stopped him in his tracks. "A coward and a thief." Pansy hissed behind his ear.

Draco spun around. "Father wouldn't have touched any of your family's _trinkets_."

"But he was there…" Her tone rested in the no-man's-land between a question and a statement of fact. Draco's pupils retreated deep into his eyes in alarm. He tried to turn around, but Pansy grabbed his shoulders. "TELL ME." This time loud as a thunderclap.

The common room's eyes were all on him now. He could see some of them weren't so convinced that Parkinson was a nutter after all. The tremors in his eyes lasted only a second before his face turned glacial. "Let me go." His thin lips breathed icily.

With a flick of his chin, Crabbe and Goyle appeared on either side of Pansy. Tracey and Daphne came closer too, but Pansy held them back with a raised arm, still clutching the picture frame in it. With his cronies at his side, Draco's confidence returned. "Haven't you all got better things to do?" His sneer dispersed the other students, then turned into a smile of triumph. One that told Pansy, _you can't win._ How wrong he was. She'd soon have those case files from Howell. Then he'd be telling her everything she wanted to know. For now, it would be enough to teach him a lesson about disrespecting her family's things. She released him.

"I challenge you to a duel, Malfoy."

"Are you serious?" His snort nipped her ears. She saw Tracey and Daphne exchange stricken looks, and the Slytherins inching back toward them, slack jawed. "What possible reason would I have for dueling you?"

"The petty pranks, hounding after me between classes, your abominable singing; take your pick. Unless you'd rather keep making spectacles for the other houses' entertainment." Silence from the Slytherins behind her. No one spoke against Draco directly, but if they didn't object to her, then it meant they agreed. "We can settle our differences honorably if you're not afraid to."

"Afraid? I just don't want to fight a girl." He spat.

"If Morgana Le Fay could duel Merlin, I don't see why you won't fight me."

"If you recall, Merlin won that particular duel. Just like I'd crush you."

"Gosh," Pansy joked. "I hope they're able to recover my remains after I'm crushed by the boy who: peed himself over an injured unicorn in the forbidden forest in first year, couldn't beat Potter in the dueling club second year, got knocked flat on his arse by Granger third year, and by me this year." Pansy counted off his disgraces in one hand. "You don't have a great record, Malfoy. Even if you are an incessant pest."

"Fine." He didn't really have another choice. Any more excuses and everyone really would think he was a coward; even if they didn't say it. "I accept, if I can have Zabini as my second."

"Have Crabbe or Goyle do it." Blaise stepped forward, Pansy hadn't noticed him in the crowd.

"I can't be expected to risk my life with an inferior partner at my back, can I?" Draco addressed the crowd. Crabbe and Goyle apparently took no issue with their skills being called into question. "Blaise is the only one I trust as competent enough for the task."

"Really? You need me to fight _a girl_?" Blaise, taller than Draco, smirked down at him.

Draco deflected the question. "Well if she's your girlfriend or something, how about Davis then?"

"Sod off." Tracey's face turned feral. "You don't want me at your back with a wand, Malfoy. It'll be hard to aim at anything other than the enormous git on the field."

"Just do it Blaise." Pansy ordered him. If this was all it took to get Malfoy in the open, so be it. Dueling seconds never fought unless it was a duel to the death anyway. Draco was grasping at straws trying to tear a rift between them.

Blaise looked right at her, as if trying to telepathically say that this was a mistake. "Alright, Malfoy." He agreed.

Pansy held her hand out. "Saturday, at dawn in the Forbidden Forest just outside the oaf's hut. We'll leave together from the common room. Tracey will be my second." Draco shook her hand. The commons splintered into islands of two and three chattering among themselves. They'd be tagging along on Saturday. It pleased Pansy just fine; the more public Malfoy's humiliation, the better.

"Come Greengrass, the squad meeting will begin shortly." Daphne offered her an apologetic smile as she followed Malfoy out.


	8. Parkinson vs Malfoy II: Ready to Rumble

_A/N: Late. Late. Late. I'm sorry. I actually struggled a lot with this chapter. For a few weeks I worked on a buffer chapter, between this one and my last. After weeks of writing, rewriting and editing, I couldn't really justify it. It gave away too much of the duel, and didn't advance the story much. So I spent another bunch of weeks struggling to write Pansy and Draco's fight. Enjoy._

 _Special thanks to_ _ **Ariely**_ _and_ _ **Hey It's That Guy**_ _for reviewing my last chapter._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any associated characters._

 _\- x_

* * *

They walked through a rocky footpath. The half-breed Hagrid had carved a trail wide enough for a bus with his quidditch goal-sized feet. Twenty minutes later, the path widened into a crater. An even coat of snow made it resemble an enormous ivory bowl in the middle of the forest.

"Before we begin," Draco spoke. "I must confer with my dueling partner. A matter of strategy, you understand."

"Of course."

"Zabini. Should I be unable to continue the duel…" Pansy walked to the center of the arena. Whatever Malfoy was saying got a reaction from Blaise. He crossed his hands and swiveled his head side to side. Draco didn't so much as shiver in the cold, but kept pelting Blaise with words. She looked back at Tracey, who took two steps toward her, but Pansy just smiled and turned back to Zabini and Malfoy. Tracey could relax. Pansy would beat Draco alone and show everyone what a flaccid wizard he was.

Something Malfoy said bent Blaise like a reprimanded child. Blaise extended a cautious hand to Malfoy. They shook hands and separated. Draco looked gallant. Blaise looked ashen. Her feet crunched the snow seeking her friend, but Nott coughed for the two adversaries. "Blaise." She called, but his head was low against the wind. He wasn't even watching the duel begin.

"Last chance to back out," Malfoy said as they shook hands. As always someone would have to beat the smugness out of him. This time it was her privilege.

"I'm not the one making funeral arrangements with Blaise." Pansy said. She held her wand before her face, then arched it down to her side. He mirrored her movements. They bowed, turned and took exaggerated steps away from the center like windup soldiers. Just as mechanically, they faced each other again. Theo Nott stood in the center. With the drop of his hand, he would start the duel.

Wayward snowflakes pushed off the treetops, and twirled into the clearing. Sight and sound and sensation were all focused on the circular crater that Draco and she occupied. The condensed strength of a coiled spring was concentrated in her feet and wand.

Nott's hand pendulumed down.

" _Expelliar_ – "

" _Flippendo_." She reacted first.

"- _muuhhhs_." Draco jumped out of the way; his disarming spell kicking up snow.

" _Flippendo_." She tried again. Draco spun around her spell. " _Flippendo_. _Flippendo_. _Flippendo_." A flock of spells left Malfoy nowhere to run and flipped him in the air. He crashed into a snow bank. Pansy circled around, wand ready.

" _Ascendio_." Malfoy flew into the air, propelled by a giant trampoline.

Airborne, he couldn't change direction. Pansy's wand traced Malfoy's descent, " _Petrificus To_ -"

" _Serpentsoria_." Three snakes rained down from the sky. The serpents pounded into the ground, bouncing Pansy an inch off the earth. A hood the size of a bronze shield, some quill-length fangs, and a tree trunk-sized body; the largest cobra, viper and constrictor Pansy had ever seen. Emissaries of death in black shimmering scales. Pansy backed away slowly. One venomous bite would force a forfeit and hasty trip to the infirmary.

" _Expelliarmus_." She shifted her weight and jumped left. Draco's spell found empty air. The movement flicked an 'on' switch in the snakes' reptilian brains. The viper stretched into a spear, and flew at Pansy.

" _Ascendare_." She sent the snake hurtling backwards. _Hissssss_. The cobra came in from the left. Pansy ducked and the snake pumped venom into a pine tree.

" _Stupefy_." Pansy dove and ate snow. Draco's spell tumbled through the canopy above, peppering her with twigs. _The boa_. She rolled. A half-ton living whip flayed the snow where she'd been. The boa coiled behind her, but she pushed off the ground, and leapt over its body. The other serpents slithered toward her.

" _Stupefy_."

She ducked. " _Expelliarmus_." Constrictors were slow, but this one gave her enough time to fire back a disarming spell. Behind it, the cobra and viper moved like they were slithering against molasses not snow. Their forked tongues hiding behind their snouts.

" _Petrificus Totalus_."

" _Ascendio_." Pansy leapt over Draco's attack this time. The serpents would shiver, if they could. The cold had licked away their venomous ferocity. She landed behind them. An _Expelliarmus_ – luckily – hit her foot. Another cleared her entirely. " _Glacius_." She side swept her wand like a fire hose at the snakes' backs. They turned to ice sculptures.

" _Bombarda_." The earth boomed next to Pansy, throwing snow into the air. As her head turned away, Malfoy cast the spell three more times. The frozen serpents exploded. She crouched and covered her eyes. Ice needles pecked her face.

Pansy lifted her arms. A snowy, glittering fog ghosted over the arena. Every direction looked the same. Her hand touched a wet, gooey stump; a pillar made of frozen constrictor. Yuck. She crouched against it, in case he saw her first. A cold breeze shook her bones, and cleared the air. The trees became black spots, then silhouettes, then green and distinct. Malfoy was gone.

"Coward!" She called. "Yield, if you're so afraid to fight." He must be planning something; some dirty trick. Snowflakes feathered her nose. She batted them away.

"Watch out!" Tracey yelled.

A Draco-sized yeti sprouted from the ground behind her. " _Stupefy_." _Bloody Hell_. She dove onto her belly, but a glancing blow propelled her into a tree. Pansy landed in a heap of robes like a caved-in tent.

"Pansy!" Daphne called, but her friend didn't move. Pansy tucked her wand under her chest, and tried breathing evenly.

"So much for that." Draco's foot dug into her ribs. Pansy willed herself limp. If he wasn't above hiding in a mound of snow, then she wasn't above playing possum.

Draco's leg swung again, but at the lowest point got stuck to the other one. The momentum knocked him over. His eyes found snow where the sky had been, and saw the glowing tip of Pansy's wand emerge from her robes. " _Expelliarmus_." His wand rolled in the snow.

Her foot scooped Draco onto his back. Panic oozed out of every pore on his face. His eyes stretched wide by invisible hooks. Pansy stabbed his right hand with a stinging hex making him scrunch his eyes.

A pity the Unforgivables were…unforgivable. He was hers, though. She could make him squeal, snivel, beg for mercy, piss himself…No. She was going to make him sing. Then he could spill what he knew in front of everyone. The tip of her wand glowed. " _Canti_ —URRGH."

A snowball with a core of ice cracked against her forehead. Her brain rattled against her skull. Snow dusted her eyes and warm, rust-colored liquid trickled down her forehead. Draco's legs brush her robes. He was rolling toward his wand.

She had to move. Pansy ran for a tree, feeling the trunk with an elbow while her hands still tried to flush her eyes. Malfoy undid the leg-binding hex. She flicked away moisture from her eyes, and rubbed a purple lump the size of snowball on her forehead.

"You must think that you nearly won just now." Draco called into the forest. Pansy peered around the bough giving her shelter. He leaned against the severed trunks of the snakes. "I've been humoring you Parkinson." His laugh wasn't very persuasive. "School yard hexes won't win a duel. I'm going to show you some real magic."

Her 'school yard' spells served her well so far. " _Avis_." Pansy conjured two-dozen ravens. A snowball had saved him, but not for long. " _Oppugno_."

Her ravens flocked into a V shape. A cawing missile made of bird-sized torpedoes locked onto Malfoy. Draco turned sideways and aimed his wand. With his attention taken, Pansy came out of the forest on his right flank.

" _Magna Tronitus_." A wire thin bolt of lightning cut through the flock. Ruffled feathers, and twitching birds fell to the floor like paper litter.

" _Expelliar_ – " she stood bolted, not finishing her spell, as if the lightning struck her instead. _Magna Tronitus_ was NEWT level.

" _Protego_." A sphere blossomed from Draco's wand and covered him in its bubble. The shield charm. It wasn't on the curriculum 'till end of next term. He wasn't full of tosh after all.

" _Expelliarmus_." His _Protego_ would be difficult to break through. " _Flippendo_. _Bombarda_." None of the spells made so much as a ripple.

"See, Parkinson? I could've cast _Protego_ at any moment."

" _Bombarda_. _Bombarda_. _BombarDA_. _BomBARDA. BOMBARDA_." Pansy shrieked the last incantation. He – was – right. She bent low. Her lungs burned. She wasn't going to pierce the _Protego_ like this.

" _Magna Tronitus_." The rumbling air told her to crouch, ignoring her protesting chest. The lightning bolt she wouldn't have seen coming surged past her head; promising instant death. _Why is he_ – KRRRKKKKK. Another one. She transfigured a stone in front of her into a lightning rod. Part of the bolt had already sailed past, but was reined back by the metal rod, and pumped into the ground. It got close enough to make Pansy's hair stand on end, and singe her robes.

Did _Protego_ have a finite duration? Could elemental spells get through it? Think. Think. Charms was her best subject and she couldn't remember. She had to break that shield. " _Organi Expellere_."

The organ-expelling curse. Her pupils retreated. A direct hit and everything down to her intestines would vomit out of her; gruesome and fatal. She ducked, and rolled. "We aren't fighting to the death!" Pansy propped herself up.

"This _is_ a duel, isn't it?"

While Malfoy went through his mental Rolodex of spells, Pansy pitched a slug-vomiting hex, _Langlock_ , and _Incendio_ at him. Each fizzled out in sky blue light. He wasn't bluffing. He did know stronger spells than her. But she still had an ace up her sleeve. She'd only blown up bottle caps with it before, but it was strong enough.

She steadied her wand. There weren't any complicated movements. The spell just required proper visualization and complete conviction. Pansy pointed her wand at the shield pretending there wasn't a person behind it. She mustn't hold anything back. " _Reducto_!"

Draco's jaw went slack. His hand batted the air furiously, casting a spell. Pansy's wand pushed back and bent her elbow. A massive force jetted out. White _Reducto_ collided with blue _Protego_ , like the moon impacting the earth. They shielded their eyes, and the roar of impossible forces swallowed the incantation Draco spoke.

There was a crater within a crater where the shield had been. Her eyes sifted through the smoking ruin, afraid of what they might see. Malfoy could be badly injured – or worse.

A rough pull brought Pansy to her knees. Shoots had erupted out of the snow and coiled around her legs. They cabled her arms and torso, dragging her the rest of the way down. The ropes took away every inch that her lungs conceded. A separate strand appeared along her throat; burning and squeezing, and racing the rope around her chest to strangle her first. He'd cast an _Incarcerous_.

Her wrist twirled, but got pressed flat against her chest. A cutting hex died in a firefly glow on her wand. She couldn't do more than rotate her wand in place. "Pansy!" Either Daphne or Tracey said it. Her mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. Her head arched back. She was turning blue-white as the snow. " _In…cen…dio_ ," each syllable punched her throat. The tip of her wand glowed red, smoldering the ropes around her chest. Her wrist could turn again, and directed the wand to her bound arms, then sunk it toward the rope at her throat. Her skin howled and exhaled the burnt-toast stink of seared flesh.

She sat up. Warrington and Montague had wands at Daphne and Tracey's backs. A painful breath crashed into her lungs. Her legs were still bound. Foreign blood flecked her head as she burned the last of the rope. She looked up and met a white flash. " _Langlock_." Her tongue fused to the roof of her mouth like her saliva had become glue. Draco limped before her, right arm bent backward in an obtuse angle; broken, bleeding.

Shite. One syllable didn't cover it. Shite. Shite. Shite. She couldn't cast non-verbal spells. The ten-inch unicorn hair and elm in her hand was as useful as a common stick. He'd recovered faster and driven the final nail. With his torn shirt and dripping right hand, Draco stood. He was practically posing for the victory photo.

"Had to find out the hard way, did we?" Malfoy said.

"Ooo Uuuu." She'd let them down. Mum and dad. The Malfoys betrayed them, pilfered through their things, and spread lies about them. She was done. The more sensible Slytherins were leaving for breakfast.

No. She must not fail. " _EhhEhhhLiiiAmussh_!" Her bungled disarming spell hurt her more than the trip jinx that dropped her back in the snow.

"Guess some of us can't talk the talk _or_ walk the walk."

They laughed. _Ignore them._ Malfoy's arm was broken. She could wrench it behind him and pummel him senseless. Pansy lunged forward.

" _Ascendare_." She was floating, limbs loose like a marionette. " _Tsk_. Muggle brawling is grounds for disqualification." He selected a tree near the watching Slytherins. Fresh ropes hugged her against the trunk. "But I'm feeling generous today. So I won't press the rule." Her feet kicked at the air, finding nothing solid. She twisted and turned against the ropes, but couldn't move in any direction.

" _Afflictio_." Draco aimed at her. Her stomach caved in. Her coughing shook the tree she was tied to. " _Afflictio_." One of her ribs cracked like a pretzel snapped in half.

"Stop it!" Tracey demanded. "It's over. You've won." Tracey and Daphne still had wands against their throats. Blaise had his head down.

"She hasn't yielded yet, or been disarmed." Draco smirked. With her tongue bound, Pansy could only speak in _uuurrhhhgg_ 's. "Rules are rules." Her wand slid to her last two fingers. She could drop it. He'd won anyway. But surrendering would make his victory total. _What does it matter? You've already failed them_.

Tracey sunk her elbow into Warrington, and twisted the wand out of his hand. "Sod the effing rules. _Libero._ " The ropes around Pansy slinked away and she hit the ground on her side. She stood against the tree and lifted her wand, nodding at Tracey.

"Blaise." Draco flicked a lazy finger toward Tracey like he was dispatching a luggage bearer. Another _Afflictio_ shook Pansy's arm. It was twisted like a dishrag before snapping. Pinpricks of stars danced in her eyes. "UUuuurrhgggg." Her body acted on its own. It trembled, shed tears, and gushed mucus down her nose.

Blaise made Tracey's wand arm fall limp. "What ARE you doing?" Tracey shrieked. Pansy stared at her feet. She was a failure. Even her friends were paying the price now.

"Calm down Tracey." Blaise huffed. "Don't resist." Her arms flopped behind her like windsocks as she charged into Blaise. Tracey's head dipped, following the trajectory of a battering ram. Blaise grabbed her shoulder with one hand. Once he'd absorbed her momentum, his wand slid into his pocket instead of petrifying her.

"Stop Tracey. I need to do this." Tracey's foot sailed through the space where his knees had just been. She tried again, but his feet kept dancing away.

"Why are you helping that sod?"

"Pansy asked me to do this. Remember?"

"She didn't say anything about letting Malfoy TORTURE her!"

"I'll put a stop to this, if you just calm down." He bent down and whispered in her ear. Tracey stopped struggling.

"Well, well… picked…..fight ….wrong wizard…?" Malfoy knocked the words out of her brain with _Afflictio_ spells. She still held fast to her wand, but couldn't remember why. When did she trade her body for a symphony of aches and jolts? When did she trade victory for defeat?

"How many times are you going to use the same spell, Draco?" Nott studied the clouds. "You've beaten her, just end it already."

"Fine. Fine." Draco lowered his wand. There was one more thing he wanted them to witness before breakfast started to sound more appealing than Parkinson's humiliation. He swiped his wand downward, and the tree caressed Pansy's back with jagged bark all the way down to a thudded landing.

He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulled out a rumpled letter. "Esteemed Mr. Howell, I am writing to request all case files pertaining to my father's clients…" Her letter to Parkinson and Rowle. He had it. Recognition jump-started her senses.

"The moment my father was contacted to sign the release of certain documents," Malfoy laughed, "he made employment offers to everyone at Parkinson and Rowle: defense attorneys, managers, even custodial staff." Goyle handed him an old copy of the Daily Prophet. "In case you missed it, my father's new practice, Malfoy and Howell,opened its doors last week." He held the paper up to her face. Isidore Howell and Lucius Malfoy each held one handle on a large pair of scissors and shook hands. "They shredded everything before leaving. Your father's practice is a husk." He threw the paper at her feet and kicked her again. "Better luck next time, Parkinson."

Pansy avoided his eyes, but his voice grew louder. "Due to injury I can no longer continue." Draco pointed at his broken arm. "I call on my second to conclude the duel." He bowed to Blaise, who walked toward Pansy.

His face was a smoothed sheet. But his arm seemed ten times heavier as he raised it. " _Expelliarmus_." Blaise caught her wand. He tested the wood, and dropped Pansy's wand in two pieces at her feet; a pair of jagged chopsticks.

* * *

 _A/N: I know. I know. Pansy and Draco will meet again, though._

 _I'm dealing with a lot of stuff right now, so next chapter might be about a month from now. I'd like to go back to weekly updates, or at least bi-monthly, but that probably won't happen until June._


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